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Book L 



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Copyright 1^^. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



DRIFTWOOD 



And Other Poems 



BY 



FLORENCE E. DE CERKEZ 



M 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
I9IO 



Copyright 1910 by Florence E. de Cerkez 



All Rights Reserved 



t^ 






(jORHAm Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



©CU273ai4 



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r 



TO MY MOTHER 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Driftwood 9 

R-0-S-E-M-A-R-Y 

My Song 13 

The Rose 14 

Broken Harpstrings , 14 

Night in Africa 14 

Now 15 

Her Knight , 15 

A Prayer 16 

Ragatz . 17 

Solitude 18 

Promontogno 19 

A Storm in Lucerne 19 

Marechal Neil 20 

A Song Not to be Put to Music. 2i 

The Ruins of Ebenburg 22 

Clarens 24 

The Two Languages 25 

Insomnia 26 

To the Hudson 26 

/ Would Forget 28 

Foreboding 28 

Sonnet 29 

To My Muse 30 

Whoso Giveth a Cup of Water 31 



CONTENTS 

Page 

/ Love Thee 31 

Caritas 32 

In the Pines 32 

Sa7id of the Hour-Glass October 33 

To Emma 34 

To Carmen Sylva 34 

Lines 35 

Dinantj Ardennes 35 

Friendship 36 

Whyf 36 

A Sketch 37 

A Letter {to M. D.) 37 

A Rainy Evening 38 

Requiescat 38 

Love 39 

Mountain Breeze 40 

To One Envied by His Friends 41 

Sintram 41 

In After Years 41 

Konig Tolv 42 

Epithalamium 43 

Ausable Chasm 44 

In the Clover 45 

When the Leaves Fall 45 

''Suffering Before You Sing" . . 46. 

Autumn Wind 47 

New Year 47 

Holly-Wreath 48 

Henceforth {to S. B. C.) 50 



CONTENTS 

Page 

In Memoriam 52 

The Song of the Dial 53 

Night in the Garden 55 

Niente 56 

To a Poet 57 

Snow 58 

At a Concert 58 

On a Reading of Omar Khayyain 59 

UNDER THE ROYAL BANNERS 

Requiem 63 

Recessional 64 

In Memoriaju 64 

Sonnet 65 

Easter Flowers 65 

While these Hunger 68 

Saul of Tarsus 68 

The Little Christ Child 70 

A Christmas Hymn 71 

Vespers 74 

Fiat 76 

Siloam 77 

Hand and Brain 78 

Christian Belief 80 

Confession 82 

Meditation 83 

In the Wilderness 86 

The Prophet 90 



CONTENTS 

Page 
PARNASSIA PALUSTRIS 

Parnassia Palustris 97 

Grass of Parnassus 97 

Wild Swan 98 

Song 99 

Lurelei 100 

Engine 72 lOO 

The Secret of the Shell lOi 

Song 103 

Tribute to a Friend 104 

Vision 104 

Edith of Tynewold 104 

On the Atlantic 109 

Where Others Shall Tread ill 

The Spirit of the Storrn 114 

Souvenir — A Song . . . 116 

Letters to My Alice 117 

In Answer 1 19 

Alice of the Woods I20 

The Ermine of Brittany I2l 



DRIFTWOOD 

Life's ocean casts up many a drifting spar, 
Flotsam of wrecks long since without a name, 

That lends the hearth a variable flame, 

And glitters like the Cross whose rays afar 
Shine on the seas beyond the coral bar. 

It keeps its tale of glory or of shame 

And will not ever tell us whence it came 
Nor of what forest growth its fibers are. 

Clear fire of driftwood, burning on the shore, 

Cast forth your changing hues across the main 
And light a phantom vessel on the waves, 

It bears the forms we never shall see more. 
Those whom the watchers waited for in vain, 
The Dreams that sleep in unforgotten graves. 



R-O-S-E-M-A-R-Y 



MY SONG 

Many a broken heart on earth 

Hath eased itself with song 
For the rough road to death from birth 

Is wearisome and long. 
Though kindly voices cheer us, yet 

Something upon the way 
Is lost, and we cannot forget 

The glory of the day. 
Yes, all have had their hour of pain, 

But few, as I have done, 
Will try to match their loss with gain 

By counting one by one 
Their falling tears as if to string 

With them a rosary, 
And few their open heart will fling 

At every passer by. 
This have I done, or seemed to do. 

For singing to the wind 
I have allowed men through and through 

To penetrate my mind. 
So seems it. Aye, but God's above 

And peace be to the rest! — 
Deeper than death, for deep as love 

Lies that within my breast 
Which idly I appear to trail 

Before a careless throng; 
To me as to the corn a flail 

Is my loud burst of song. 
And yet the effort is in vain, 

The brimming vase is set 
In ice that settles round again 

Upon a deep regret. 



13 



THE ROSE 

There Is a rose that decks the paths of men 
With trailing beauty and a scent divine: 
It blossoms where no mortal could divine, 
But when once plucked, it never blooms again. 
Where it hath been uprooted from the soil, 
With bleeding hearts we watch the lonely spot; 
None find it, save by chance, howe'er they toil, 
Yet pity on the soul that find it not. 

BROKEN HARPSTRINGS 

There are some feelings words portray. 
That waken, like a penciled head, 
Some darkling image of the dead. 
So there are griefs that we may say ; 

But there are agonies of mind 
That snap the heart strings, like a harp 
Where some unskilful hand a sharp 
Fierce chord has struck, and left behind 

A shattered thing unfit for song; 
So conquered by the storm we lie 
Borne on the wind that whirls us by. 
Pitiless as it rides along. 

NIGHT IN AFRICA 

Thou pale young moon, tell me, how does my love ? 
Thinks she of me, now on this April night? 
Sees she in slumber one who, though he rove 
All the world over, still has her in sight; 
Still has her eyes, her violet eyes on his, 
With this sky of Africa above him. 



Were yonder desert fiercer than it is, 

It were a paradise so she did love him. 

Thou pale young moon, let me be sure : 

Glint through her lattice ; — on her little hand, — 

Now bless mine own. There, now I can endure, 

Though all the world were a desert of sand ! 

Say, doth she sleep, or waketh she, or dreams. 

Ah not of me, but of the latest face 

Her open eyes have lit on? — Let thy beams 

Flash on my soul a response, let them trace 

A picture of my love, that I may see 

If she doth watch or dream, perchance, of me. 

NOW 

We know we live, we know we die, 

We do not know the goal. 

We cannot tell or whence, or why 

Or whither. In the soul 

Arises doubt we shame to stem. 

And hope we fear to scorn ; 

We weep the lost and follow them; 

Say, is it death, or dawn? 

Shall we not love each other now, 

Since this is all we know? 

Time is so swift, we watch not how 

The summers come and go. 

Yet still I dream thy love some eve 

Will close upon my breast. 

And I shall touch thy lips, and leave 

The rest, and leave the rest. 



15 



HER KNIGHT 

How were the knight whom you should stoop to 
wed ? 

Apart we sat 
In the wide window seat. She bent her head 

And laughed at that, 
Half coy and half defiant; "Thus", she said: 

"If I should choose a knight to be my love, 

He should be fair, 
His very voice and gesture made to move, 

His talents rare, 
If I should choose a knight to be my love. 

If I should choose a knight to be my lord, 

He should be great, 
Feared of his peers, and by the low adored 

In princely state. 
If I should choose a knight to be my lord. 

If I should choose a knight to be my own, 

He should be strong, 
And by his native fearlessness, have grown 

Scornful of wrong, 
So should he be whom I should call my own." 

A PRAYER 

At night, when darkness closes 

And all reposes. 

In the still air 

Rises my prayer 

God keep thee in His care. 



i6 



At morn, when day begins, 

And sunlight wins 

The hill-top gray, 

For thee I pray, 

"God bless thee love today." 

At noontide, when a hush 

Falls on the rush 

Of busy feet 

In the close street, 

I pray: "God shield thee sweet." 

And in the holy light 
Of God's pure sight, 
Whene'er I may, 
The livelong day, 
"Love her O Lord" I say. 

RAGATZ 

Thou art alone. No rustle on the hills 
Nor drowsy twitter in the fragrant w^ood. 
Nature has gone to rest, and silence fills 
The echoes with its harmony. Her brood 
The eagle long has gathered in the nest 
That overhangs yon distant purple crag 
Shadowed against the crystal light. The rest 
Sinks into deepening twilight, where the flag 
Flutters its purple streamers o'er the marsh. 
And the white mist rolls up the valley. Now 
Thy soul can commune with itself. All harsh 
Discordant sounds are hushed, and now the flow 
Of solemn thought can freely drift, and bear 
Thee like the Delphian winds a mystic word 
To live upon hereafter. 

Speak, I hear. 
Majestic Silence! Often have I heard 

17 



Ere now thy voice at close of dewy eve, 

Falling like plumes cast down from twilight's wings ; 

Or when the rising sun begins to cleave 

In coloured shafts the cloud, and earthly things 

With light of Eden blest, await the day: 

The timid flowers with eyes half oped, the birds 

Swaying to plume their wings, the glistening spray 

That not a breeze stirs else, and the mild herds 

Ranging the meadows; these, all these, have borne 

Thy still mysterious voice, thy wordless song 

Unruffled to mine ear. And I have gone 

My daily journey though the way was long, 

And wearisome the road. But scarce an hour 

The charm of harmonies sublime can rest 

In perfect peace, or battle with the power 

Of earth's wild discords in the human breast. 

Thus as I gaze on nature's placid beauty, 

On this grey starlit plain, these rock-cleft skies, 

Deep in my soul the clarion peal of duty 

Starts self-evoked from nature's harmonies! 

Canst thou no more then. Nature all-pervading. 

Canst thou no more than stir within us fires 

In their fierce course the very soul invading, 

Consumed at last with their own vain desires ? 

SOLITUDE 

Thou canst not love like simple men 

Who seek for pleasure. 

Nor thy proud aspirations pen 

Within their measure; 

Thou canst not find a soul to share 

Thine own unrest. 

And so thy pain alone must bear 

W^ithin thy breast. 



i8 



PROMONTOGNO 

Hail once again ye mountains! Thrice the year 
Hath strewn your rocks with hairbells, thrice the 

stream 
Hath leapt from wintry snows into the lap 
Of summer meadows, and the quiet herd 
Have sought their scanty pasture on the height 
Since I have trod this path, and In the shade 
Of solitary pines have heard the wind, 
And watched the brawling stream as I do now. 
Rush on, rush on thou homeless stream, and ye 
Sentinels of the mountain fastnesses. 
Ye ancient pines, wave your dark spears. To me 
The wandering stream, the voices of the wind 
Have nought of strange or fearful ; kin am I, 
Kin to you all, though loftier ye and pure. 
Temples of God's eternal majesty. 

A STORM IN LUCERNE 

Dark lowers the cloud; a straggling sunbeam 

throws 
Its broken Shaft upon the Storm Fiend's shield. 
His inky buckler with red lightning blazoned ; 
Fled is all good, and nought resists the winds 
That howling now assail yon noble oak, 
Mad at resistance, with redoubled rage; 
They laugh to hear his sturdy sinews crack 
And whistle as he crashes to the earth. 
So have I seen ignoble fury work 
Its utmost on a great and vanquished head. 



19 



MARECHAL NEIL 

I wandered by the borders of the sea 

That knows no tide, 
Where the grey olive bloom of Italy 

Spreads far and wide. 
The sun upon the lea made silver sheets 

Of all the waves 
And shadowless were all the village streets 

And still as graves, 
While on the sultry air the orange flower 

Threw languid scent, 
And sharply through the cypress boughs a shower 

Of sunlight bent. 
It brimmed on all the orchid's tinted cups 

In the tall grass 
And shimmered on a thousand buttercups 

Like fine spun glass; 
It kissed the crimson kerchief of a maid 

Upon the boulder 
Bearing an earthen pitcher lightly laid 

Across her shoulder, 
While, by a wall screened with laburnum trees. 

Their blossoms trailing 
Against its warm white marble in the breeze, 

Through an old railing 
A yellow rose sheer on the bare sky flashed 

Upon my sight, 
The flesh of its sun-burnished petals dashed 

With scent and light. 
And oft since then its flame had cheered my eyes 

And warmed my heart 
Remembered under grey and gloomy skies 

In foreign part; 
When, O strange chance! as Springtime flowered 
the wood 



zo 



And cleared the snows, 
You gave me — in the morning light you stood, — 
A yellow rose. 

A SONG NOT TO BE PUT TO MUSIC 

I loved you as we love a land. 
Though foreign, yet familiar grown, 
And when I closely held your hand, 
I knew that you were not my own. 

Yet common sympathies had moved 
Our kindred spirits toward each other; 
I loved you truly, but I loved 
With the strong fondness of a brother. 

And if another feeling oft 
Stirred me when gazing in your eyes, 
I felt it drowned in tears arise. 
And sink again, remote and soft. 

Oh, tender as the distant ring 
Of passing bells at eventide! 
No chance of time or fate can bring 
A truer being to my side. 

No voice will ever sound so dear, 
No heart will ever beat so close. 
No step so gently wake mine ear 
Forever! — ^Thou hast picked the rose, 

Thou hast the secret of my breast, 
And like a desecrated tomb. 
My heart, though wrapt in cypress gloom 
Hast lost its dear and sacred guest. 



21 



THE RUINS OF EBENBURG 

Oh what grief my heart o'erwhelms 
As I see our meeting place! 
And the shadows of the elms 
That were playing on your face ! 

In my fancy you are there, 
Standing silent by my side, 
So one sees the chamber bare 
Where a friend has lived and died; 

Yet such sorrow finds relief 
In the thought that though unseen 
Still the spirit shares our grief 
With the love that once hath been; 

Whereas I my pain must bear 
In a solitary breast, 
With your shadow everywhere 
Haunting me, a stranger guest. 

Yes a stranger In the halls 
Where we welcomed you so oft, 
Silently its footstep falls 
Gentle is its voice and soft, 

Pleading with the eloquence 
Of the frank familiar eyes, 
Pleading with the strength intense 
Of a thousand memories: — 

"Tell me, love, do you remember 
How we culled the autumn flowers. 
How we watched the dying ember 
By the hearth in winter hours ; 



22 



How a sadness 'twixt us crept 
With the blooming of the heath, 
While our love triumphant leapt, 
Like a lily from its sheath? — 

I remember in the woods 
How the ashes crimson berry 
In your hair I wove, your moods 
Flitting, gusty, sad and merry; 

How we climbed this ruined buttress 
Crowned with grasses waving wide, 
Stood alone, my gentle mistress, 
For the first time side by side, 

Heedless of the many voices 
Ringing in the castle shade. 
Heedless of the distant noises 
That the world without us made, 

And together closed our spirits, 
Strangers but an hour before, 
God forgive us, faults or merits 
Weighed not! — Strangers evermore. 

Strangers since we bowed in sorrow 
To a stern necessity, 
Strangers till the last tomorrow 
Wastes into Eternity." . . . 

Leave me, shadow from the distance 
Of th' irrevocable past; 
In a higher strung existence 
Let us both find peace at last. 



23 



And within, the sacred powef 
That hath seemed to bear no fruit, 
Strong in Charity shall flower 
From its deep and mangled root. 

Oftentimes the spirit weaves 
Scented wreaths of its regret. 
As upon the fallen leaves 
Blooms the springtime violet; 

So in after years perchance 
You shall pass me by unmoved, 
Meeting with a careless glance 
The forgotten face you loved. 

CLARENS 

{To Byron) 

Fall twilight on the lake, while yonder boat 
Fleets homeward like a curlew on the wing, 
And let my fancy now at random float 
Like yon grey vapours slowly darkening. 
How the white moonlight on the water burns 
As with the blended fire of myriad stars, 
And how the restless element returns 
The flash reflected in a thousand bars! 
Deep in its bosom plunge the fiery flakes 
Through the dark leaves of the old sycamore. 
While the light wave montonously breaks 
On the smooth rolling pebbles of the shore. 
Pause we awhile before the darkness closes. 
Listen, O Byron, to the murmuring wave. 
The stillness of the summer night disposes 
The mind to silent meditation grave. 
Yet gaze not inward. See the mountain chain 
Rearing its snows into the changing sky. 
The moonlight waters and the glimmering plain, 
Let these attract, these hold thy wandering eye. 

24 



But turn it not within, do not disturb 

The peace of Nature and the sense of rest 

With marsh-light thoughts, but bow thy head and 

curb 
The bitter musing of thy wayward breast. 
Thou in whose soul of flame was written deep 
The name of poet, rise above the storms 
To regions worthy of thyself, and keep 
The gods for thy companions, not those forms 
Which jostle in thy brain with petty noise. 
O child of Greece that to th' Ionian gale. 
Harmonious in thy pure artistic poise. 
Like some grand temple years in vain assail, 
A pile of mouldering greatness, ivy-bound, 
Opposest, — Bard of passion, quell thy heart! 
Its voice still thrills the Jura, and the sound 
Evokes thy wrath, hence never to depart. 

THE TWO LANGUAGES 

My mother tongue and that I spoke with you 

In me contend. 
So on the old affections dawned the new 

To meet ajid blend 
With all I had been, as the flowering vine 

Around the oak, 
Creeping along centennial boughs will twine 

Its graceful cloak; 
Yet closely clinging to the native bark 

In silent strife, 
The verdant tendrils, growing in the dark, 

May sap its life. 



25 



INSOMNIA 

While all the household sleeps, 

- I watch alone, 
My sorrowing spirit keeps 

Its vigil lone ; 
As the white stars wheel by, 

The lamp burns low, 
Before my open eye, 

Dreams come and go. 
Soul of my dreams! thou Shade 

So dearly loved, 
The promise I had m.ade 

Lo I have proved : 
As creeps to light the dawn 

Behind the roofs, 
As start the cock's loud horn 

The wheel and hoofs, 
I feel the life I gave 

To thee is thine; 
This is an empty grave 

This clay of mine. 

TO THE HUDSON 

Ere this I've wandered by thy reedy shores, 
Along thy swelling broad majestic stream 
Beneath the leaves of ancient sycamores 
And in the twilight's green ethereal gleam. 
When idle thoughts fled like a swallow's wing 
'Mid shadows of the future through my breast. 
As in these woods, by fountains murmuring, 
I rocked my spirit, on thy waves, to rest. 
But now how strange, O Hudson, are thy banks; 
I hear no music in thy waters' roll. 
Although the Palisades their rocky flanks 
Rear proud as ever at the journey's goal. 

26 



The pale familiar stream from the West 
Upon the Point where science trains the sword, 
And yet the lovely scene does not afford 
My eye and heart a sense of joy or rest. 

Fade O thou sunlight of Columbia's strand, 

With softer glow fall in another clime 

Where vineyards smile upon a mellow land 

And breezes waft abroad the even chime; 

Drop from your heights, ye frowning Palisades, 

To rolling uplands crowned with ruined halls; 

Break open quarries in the autumn glades, 

And pearl the rills with many waterfalls; 

Deck with a wreath of legend all the scene. 

Bring down the glory of the sky above 

Into my heart, and I shall walk between 

The Rhineland vines, and once more learn to love. 

Never again on earth. . . . That sun for me 

Is set forever on a shoreless deep; 

And my life dream wrapt in the ne'er to be. 

As with myself a lonely watch I keep. 

And why? Because an hour we walked in bliss? 

Because we touched each other's hand, and knew 

Tempests of passion that a living kiss 

Hath never sealed ? My love, I lived for you. 

Words are not deep enough; — My spirit's tide 

Surges in silence at each passing hour. 

Filled with a yearning that nought else beside. 

Nought but thyself can fill, then In the power 

Of lonely wretchedness receding leaves 

My stranded thought. Thy eyes are on my eyes. 

Bright Image, while my thristy longing greives 

For the clear draught this desert world denies. 

Where art thou ? — Yea, my life Is void and dark 

And loveless since we parted. . . . Nevermore 

Never on earth to own each other. Hark 

27 



The Rhine is swollen and the rapids roar. 
Would I were buried in his rocky bed, 
Whilst thou in a fair-fitted barge shouldst pass 
Above my forehead in the water grass 
And sorrow. . . . Peaceful, peaceful arc the 
dead. 

I WOULD FORGET 

I would forget thee as the swallows fly 
On wings of steel when last the dying wood 
Smiles in the golden leaf, not put thee by 
As the mere vision of a lighter mood. 

I would not have a course of slow decay 
Wear out the passion that has stirred my breast 
Doomed like a ruined stronghold, day by day 
To lose the glory that I once possessed. 

For I have done as Arthur's last true knight 
With the true love which thou hadst given me 
When he descended from the frosty height 
And threw Excalibur into the sea. 

FOREBODING 

O let me live, I ask of ye no more 

But let me live. 
Not yet the storm, I scarce have left the shore, 

Love left behind. 
Not yet — my swelling sails but take the wind — 

Some respite give. 

Still on the port the lingering light of day 

Sheds molten gold. 
As to the verge I take my lonely way; 

Night closes in. 

28 



Then give me space the open sea to win, 
Darkness withhold. 

Yet wherefore should I fear the lowering cloud 

That banks the West, 
Though on the bright young moon a gloomy shroud 

Be early thrown, 
And though the sleeping sea begin to moan 

Its deep unrest? 

I do not fear, ye winds and threatening storm 

Your utmost force; 
As- yonder wave the worst ye can perform 

Breaks on a rock, 
I dash to foam the ineffectual shock 

Would check my course. 

SONNET 

I read Evangeline's sad tale last night. 

And by the short'ning candle watched the scene 

Grow, and dissolve: Arcadia's meadows green. 

The burning village and the exiles' flight; 

The victory of tyranny o'er right; 

The wandering lovers with a world between 

Their sundered steps ; Two beings which unseen 

Glowed in each other like a beacon light 

Until the end ; and the last short embrace 

In the still ward. "Peace, peace, for God is able," 

And the book fell, when sudden burning tears 

Dimmed all the room, and I beheld thy face. 

Resting upon thy hand, sunk by the table 

In reverie, and no older than thy years. 



a9 



TO MY MUSE 

Hast thou one only theme, O Muse, 
Whene'er I call thee to my side, 
Hast thou no word, whate'er betide. 
Canst thou no consolation use, 

But wake the accents of the lyre 
To one melodious tuneful theme. 
And are these ashes of a dream 
All thou hast left of early fire? 

Are these dead ashes all thou hast 
To bless my sorrow with, my friend, 
Thou who didst promise till the end 
To be to me what once thou wast ? 

What thou wert once, forever be; 
When rising on a sunless morn. 
The promise of a better dawn. 
Thy lovely face bent over me. 

With song or silence, hand in hand 
Together we have walked since then, 
And when among my fellowmen 
I faltered, thou didst help me stand. 

Then strike thy harp to that clear strain 
Of yore, and leave our gay hopes lost 
Leave our illusions tempest crossed 
Sing thy forgotten songs again! 



30 



WHOSO GIVETH A CUP OF WATER 

Because I learnt of thee that love is not 
A fruitless blossom to be left to rot 
Upon life's highway, trifled with an hour 
And cast into the dust; because the power 
Of thy kind being, like the sunshine blessed 
My dayspring, O my friend, I leave the rest. 
All careless pleasure and all fancies vain : 
I will not wish the past back once again 
To make thee suffer, as thou surely didst. 
From hour to hour, slow sorrow, in the midst 
Of joys uncertain ; but we plucked the rose. 
Then let its perfume, as the night breeze blows 
Drop gently with its petals on the wind, 
God bless the memory thou hast left behind. 

I LOVE THEE 

I love thee, yes I love thee now 
More than when thou wert by my side, 
For now my love is passion tried, 
A crown of sorrows on its brow; 

And all thou art is grown to me 
Much closer, much more real and true. 
The shadow of a gravestone yew 
Has barred the light that was to be. 

A shadow in the noonday sun, 
A sadness in the twilight hour, 
The suden drooping of a flower 
Whose tender life had but begun. 

And yet, another radiance beams, 
A glory on the sleeping worlds, 
As thy fair soul my soul enfolds. 
Grown to one being in my dreams. 

31 



I question not the will of God, 
But O the joy that might have been, 
If, without any bar between, 
Life's road together we had trod. 

CARITAS 

I did not love my fellow creatures less 

Because of the deep love I had for thee; 

Weak souls shrink passion to their littleness, 

But my strong heart swelled love to charity. 

There are some fragrant things that blow in May 

And all around 

Strew flowers upon the ground : 

Such was the love I bore thee one brief day, 

But time can never take that love away. 

IN THE PINES 

If this be love, for thee to draw my breath, 

Joy in thy joy alone to find, 

To feel the chill dark misery of death, — 

Believe I love thee! So the windy pines 

Toss to the mountain shade their unheard song. 

Yet still to thee my lonely soul inclines. 

Yet still I love as I have loved thee long. 

Were every sigh a breeze to waft me to thee 

Were every thought a wing my soul to bear. 

Then as the sunbeams woo the rose, I'd woo thee, 

Radiant and tender as the golden air. 

Soul of my soul that kneeling I adore, 

Nought but my life's oblation can I give: 

I will not die, but I will do much more, 

For thee, O my beloved, I will live. 



32 



SANDS OF THE HOUR-GLASS 

OCTOBER 

Another summer vanished, as the fall 

Peers o'er the smoking hill-tops. Gone with all 

The roses and the beauty of the dawn, 

The song of field and wood and river, gone 

Into the everlasting darkness of the past. 

Another summer gone to join the last; 

Another flower fallen from the wreath; 

Another shower of red leaves dropt beneath 

The old men's foot-fall and the children's tread ; 

Another summer lying with the dead. 

So with the hopes and glories of the spring. 

Is this my dream? This cold and misty thing 

That stands within the halo of the lamp, 

And on my forehead lays a touch so damp; 

That in the narrow ray thus darkly stands. 

And lays a shrunken hand upon my hands ? — 

'*I am thy dream of April, violet-crowned, 

I am the song of thrush and robin, drowned 

In whirling winds; the solitude that dwells 

On harvest fields left bare, and naked fells. 

I am the Past. I am the noble fire 

That sparkled in thy torch, the vain desire. 

The sheaf of error and the grain of truth; 

I am thy running glass: I am thy youth." 

Where dost thou point, O Shadow, with thy hand? 

''Unto the grave; a footstep on the sand 

Washed by the coming wave ; to leafless trees 

And wintry snows." "What comes to me with 

these ? 
What comes? O Shadow of the past, reply! 
''With these, there cometh that which doth not die: 
The Star of Bethlehem, the Christmas hearth. 
The light of Heaven shed upon thy path. 
The garnered harvest of a life well spent; 

33 



The Child upon the Mother's knee, the rent 

In glowing skies, and angel choirs that fill 

The heart with peace and blessings and good-will." 

TO EMMA 

I find no words, no words to speak to thee 
But didst thou think of carelessness in me. 
Of loving thought less constant than should be 
When heart to heart have beaten answeringly? 

Yes, heart to heart. For something knit a band 
Between us while we wandered hand in hand, 
And so, — until the glass have cast its sand, — 
So linked, though parted, you and I shall stand. 

If words be needed, O my friend, to say 
"As then I loved thee, still I love today 
And still shall ever," then these words I lay 
Within the green leaves of the holly-spray. 

TO CARMEN SYLVA 

Is one who wears a jewel diadem 

And noble mien. 

Who leads the dance before admiring eyes 

And lets men kneel to kiss her mantle's hem, 

Shows she wherein the royal function lies, 

The office of a queen? 

Is she who rides beneath an arch of flowers 
While scattered roses brush the horses' hoof. 
Who dwells at ease in screened and scented bowers, 
Beyond the reach of all, from all aloof. 
Is such a one a queen? 

Is this a queen, one on a tower alone. 
Unheard, unseen, 

34 



Watching the swell of human miseries 
Surge to the footstool of her crimson throne, 
Cold as a star and distant as the skies, 
Answer, is this a queen? 

No ! Thou hast taught us, Sovereign void of pride, 
O Queen whose thoughts are high, whose hands are 

clean, 
Who hast been known to us in doing good. 
That to become a woman glorified 
Into a type of perfect womanhood. 
This is to be a queen. 

LINES 

Wiesbaden 

This is the place, the dappled sycamore, 
The fan-leafed chestnut and the willow-tree. 
That threw their fading leaves upon our path 
As in these walks we idled long ago, — 
How they remember thee, beloved friend. 

DINANT, ARDENNES 

So the still water runs by the still town 
That glasses white-washed walls and leaden roofs 
In the green wave, and towering boulders frown 
Aloft in mid-air, and the sound of hoofs 
Beats on the highway, while the patient mule 
By the long dripping cable drags the weight 
Of river craft. Against some future Yule 
The huge heaped logs come floating down to wait 
In lumber-yards for snow. The piles of coal 
Creep to the bellowing furnace, and the foam 
Caps the swift eddies that arise and roll 
Behind the pleasure boat that steers towards home. 
From time to time across the river breaks 
A wierd fantastic chime. It flutes and shrieks 
In mad refrain, with mediaeval freaks, 

35 



And unexpected clang that cracks and shakes. 
A broken litter of metallic chips 
That scatter through the air with leaps and dips 
Lost on the leads and on the passing ships. 

FRIENDSHIP 

High hearts are like the harp whose well tuned 

string 
Vibrates untouched if but another ring; 
Responsive to the thought still undefined 
They read it floating in each other's mind; 
But hover round the one breath of distrust 
And soon the silver chain would fall to rust 
If they did not as quickly catch the strain 
Of confidence and ring in tune again. 

WHY? 

Why do we sigh when the last red ray 

Melts into pale green light; 
Will not to-morrow bring back the day, 

Will it not dawn as bright? 

Why do we sigh when we close a book 

We had not read before; 
Why cast a sad regretful look, 

Can we not read it o'er? 

Why do we sigh when the eyelids close 

Over the eyes we love, 
Veiling the realms that no mortal knows, — 

Shall we not meet above? 

Question, question nature's voices 

If an answer ye would find. 
Or the low discordant noises 

From the haunts of humankind. 

36 



This the mournful muffled ring, 

This the solemn hidden woe 
You must know if you would sing, 

You must suffer if you know. 

A SKETCH 

Footsteps on the rustling leaves 
Through the forest stillness sound 
Where the failing sunlight weaves 
Golden lacework on the ground. 
At the sound the squirrel starts 
Curls its quivering bushy tail 
Drops its nibbled nut and darts 
Up a tree whose leaves all pale 
Scatter at its bounding tread. 
Not another sound is heard 
In the grass or overhead ; 
Not the soft note of a bird, 
Not a wild note sad or gay, 
To dispel the hazy charm 
Of the mellow Autumn day 
Or break its deep mysterious calm. 

A LETTER (TO M. D.) 

Long I watched and waited, my friend, for an an- 
swer. 

Much was I puzzled your silence to explain. 

"Surely" thought I "the tender charms that enhance 
her 

Friendship to me can never be on the wane! 

Her image clear — though she float down time's swift 
river — 

Fresh as it gleamed in the welcome of the hearth 

Stands, a statue the winter frost cannot shiver. 

In the wayside shrine of my wandering path. 

37 



She remembers the bond of a passing moment 
Pledged in the foaming bumper of golden ale. 
And those blue eyes on the noble ideal so bent 
In recognizing a friend will never fail." 
Such the thought of my heart, and so I said it. 
Then your message came, and I joyfully read it. 
Glad was I to hear of your many delights. 
Making your mock appearance before the lights. 
And whatver be the piece that you play in. 
You will be true to the life, be it light or sage; 
And you will ever be sweet and wise or gay in 
Any part you play on the world's great stage. 

A RAINY EVENING 

Gently sad Nature breathes a deep-drawn sigh 

That rustles through the innumerable leaves 

And dies before it meets the leaden sky. 

So still it is, you hear the dripping leaves. 

So sad the dullness of the landscape's tinge 

You gladly turn to where the western light 

Breaks faintly through the overhanging fringe 

Of clouds that do not reach the mountain height: 

Below, a single beam's reflected fire 

Shines from the cross upon a distant spire. 

REQUIESCAT 

Weep not, for she at last has found her rest ; 
Sigh not, for now that sad and weary breast 
Has ceased to throb with fears and pains and woes; 
Mourn not — her heart is still, with passion's throes 
No longer tortured. Life is long and rough. 
The haven gained. Peace. She has borne enough, 
And bled, and burned, my friends, then let her lie. 
O pity not those who have learned to die ! 
Shall we caged birds pity our comrades flown 

38 



With wide-spread wings into the wide unknown 
That bounds our little space on every side? 
The host of those of whom we say "They died" 
Encamps about us, follows us through life. 
The murmur of their voices o'er the strife 
Of men arises, awful and sublime, 
And makes us pause in silence while the chime 
Of passing-bells that tells a parting breath 
Tolls in each ear "The next may be thy death." 

LOVE 

There is a breath divine upon this earth, 

Leave some to call it by what name they will, 

I still shall call it love. In higher spheres 

Whose light is pure, where mists do not arise 

To cloud the sunshine and to dim the eyes, 

Perhaps they have another truer name 

For this mysterious and sacred thing: 

A name wrought of the ruby's inmost fire 

Or of the scent of half-awakened flowers 

That trembles on the first Spring wind and lives 

Forever in the bosom of the rose; 

As guileless as an infant's wandering gaze. 

And holy as the angel calm that breathe 

The tapers pale, roses and lilies white 

About the snowy death-bed of a maid. 

Some word unnamed save on the lips of those 

Whose hearts are altar-flames before their God; 

Whose thoughts like incense float embalmed to 

heaven. 
To such alone the name of love is known. 
And as to some the voices of the world 
Weld into floods of rapturous harmony, 
That whispering breeze and bursting cataract. 
And wailing winds across the snow-clad fields. 
The ringing hoof-beats on a dusty road, 

39 



And ocean thunders on the rocky shore, 
All blend into a universal song, 
So the pure heart, chastened and passionless 
Sheds upon all a warm enlightening ray, 
A glowing hearth-fire in a happy home, 
A beacon light upon a stormy sea. 

MOUNTAIN BREEZE 

When breezes blow, when breezes blow. 
My spirit in me sings, 
It flutters with the dancing leaves 
And bubbles with the springs. 

The valley then, the valley then, 
Is far too low for me, 
And to the summit of the hills 
I climb alone and free. 

Upon the hills the air is fresh 

The air is fresh and sweet. 

And rivers, meadows, hamlets, trees. 

Lie spread beneath my feet; 

Yet still, yet still unsatisfied, 

I lift my head, and high 

Above the snow-clad mountains rise 

And kiss the sunny sky. 

Then climbing on, and climbing on, 
I reach the silent height 
Where nothing smiles beneath the snows 
And men are lost to sight, 
With clouds beneath and sky above. 
And all is ice and light. 
But higher yet, and higher yet, 
Had I the wings to fly. 
Then I would soar beyond the birds 
And plunge into the sky! 
40 



TO ONE ENVIED BY HIS FRIENDS 

Smile, happy man, thy fate is kind to thee 
And flings but roses, roses on thy way. 
What is't to them or thee if holding high 
The sheaf of flowers before admiring eyes, 
Unseen thy bleeding fingers grasp but thorns? 

SINTRAM 

It is a knell that strikes thine ear, 

And cypress shades of churchyard drear 

Hang over thee: beware! 

But fouler than the phantom Death 

Is thy dark Tempter's whispered breath: 

Then, Christian, have a care! 

IN AFTER YEARS 

You answer not. But if, in after-years. 
Through patient labor I should woo you still, 
Until you heard my suit as one who hears 
An idle song he learnt against his will ? 

What if, in duty done, and battles fought, 
And silence suffered uncomplainingly. 
And living out the lessons that you taught 
I prove at last what you have been to me ? 

I leave you then, until the day we meet 
With the dim years behind, when I shall lay 
My life-work as a homage at your feet 
And you shall answer me again that day. 



41 



KONIG TOLV 

When the moon its zenith reaches 
Over larches, oaks and beeches, 
And its beam in silver breaks 
On the sleeping mountain lakes, 
Lilies at the water brink 
Watch the deer come down to drink, 
Ferns and harebells dashed with dew 
Fairy rounds and pageants view; 
For the gates of Fairyland 
Open at King Tolv's command. 
Hidden deep among the rocks, 
Closed with tiny fairy locks, 
Fairyland's dim gateway lies 
Guarded from all human eyes. 
When the pansies nod and peep. 
Where the heather grows knee-deep, 
Where the mossy boulders piled 
Wave in air their streamers wild ; 
Where the bleating flocks are led. 
Where the brawling brooks are fed 
From the bosom of the hills, 
Flowing in a thousand rills 
To the meadows and the main. 
Lie the gates of Tolv's domain. 
But the hunter in the chase 
Never finds their hiding-place 
Though he track the bounding deer 
To his stronghold high and sheer; 
And the shepherd with his flock 
Strolling on from rock to rock 
Through the bracken and the gorse; 
And the rider with his horse 
Wandering in his idle mood 
Through the mountain solitude. 
Seeking early seeking late 
Never spied the hidden gate. 
42 



When the moon its zenith reaches 
Over firs and elms and beeches, 
And its light in silver breaks 
On the ripples of the lakes, 
Then the fairy bugles blow 
And the heralds come and go 
To proclaim King Tolv will ride 
Through the world to seek a bride. 
Wide they fling the portals then 
And King Tolv with all his men, — 
Tolv in hunting suit of green 
Gorgeous in the silver sheen 
Of the moonlight's beauty comes. 
While the beetles sound their drums, — 
With his men on steeds of white 
Riding out into the night. 

EPITHALAMIUM 

{To Beatrice) 

Ring out ye crystal wedding bells ! 

Ring pure and true 

Through heaven's blue. 
Through clouds above and woods below; 

Ring through the dells 

Where frosty spells 
Chill Autumn's red and purple glow 

Ring through the light 
While we deck out our bride in white. 

Ring out ye silver wedding bells! 

The harmony 

Your souls let fly 
At first is soft and very sweet, 

Until it wells 

And floods and swells 
And in an anthem bursts, to greet 

The bride in air! 
Ring while the orange crowns her hair. 
43 



Ring out ye golden wedding bells! 

The maidens pale 

Throw back the veil, 
Ring, it is over, — nay begun: 

The midst dispels, 

The vision dwells, — 
Two life-dreams melted into one. 

Gold bells, prolong 
Forevermore your morning song. 

AUSABLE CHASM 

Down where the wild cataract leaps, 

Let us walk on the shelving shore. 

By the pool where the eddy sleeps. 

By the plunge and the foam and roar. 

Tread cautiously here on the rock 

That slants down to the fine smooth sands 

And then rises high, block on block 

As if reared by architect's hands. 

How clear and fresh is the river. 

As it bursts from its mountain home 

With a smile and song and shiver, 

Through the still dark ravine to roam! — 

Flows over the broken sandstone, 

Leaps down like a beast from its lair. 

Sprays into diamond strands thrown 

Aloft in the motionless air; 

Creeps down through the gorge deep and dank. 

Its thunder scarce reaching the verge; 

In darkness a moment they sank, — 

In light see the waters emerge. 

Is not this our life, love? Behold 

How it rolls to its sunset of gold. 



44 



IN THE CLOVER 

Humming in his heavy flight, 

Soft as velvet in the light 

See the bumble bee alight 

On a blossom tipped with flame, — 

Dragon-flower is its name, 

Given in the children's game. 

For they pinch its yellow jaw 

And behold a dragon's maw. 

See, he tilts it now to draw 

Honey from its parted lip. 

Hear him buzz, and watch him dip 

Down into the cup to sip. 

Rich his brown coat striped with gold. 

Rich the petal's ruddy fold, 

Rich the sunset on the wold. 

Flower in the waving grass. 

If the bumble bee should pass. 

He will drain thy heart alas! 

WHEN THE LEAVES FALL 

From the pines the rooks' loud calling 
Echoes through the clear still air 
While the yellow leaves are falling, 
Falling scattered ever5rwhere. 
Down in showers of gold and flame 
To the brown earth whence they came. 
And when next the robins sing, 
And the woods with gladness ring. 
Over them the violets peeping. 
In between the ivy creeping. 
They will never see another spring. 

See that fallen oak-tree lying. 
Once the monarch of the wood, 

45 



Now its withered trunk is dying, 
Spans its grave where once it stood ; 
He who fought the storm so well, 
Bravely fought his last and fell. 
And when next the robins sing 
And the woods with gladness ring, 
Over him the violets peeping 
In between the ivy creeping, 
He will never see another spring. 

Not as to the oak-tree riven 

By the angry Autumn blast, 

Not as to the light leaves driven, — 

But the Fall will come at last. 

Darling, when the Summer's flown 

Autumn comes to claim its own. 

Then when next the robins sing 

And the woods with gladness ring, — 

On my grave the violets peeping. 

In between the ivy creeping, 

Shall I somewhere see another Spring? 

"SUFFERING BEFORE YOU SING" 

F. R. Haver gal 

Do you ask if poets learn 
All their songs in schools of woe 
If with their own tears they earn 
Their sweet verses' golden flow? 

Ask the echoes, sadly dying 
Why they answer not in song, 
Ask the west wind softly sighing 
Why it laughs not, loud and long. 



46 



Questioner, ask thine own heart why it sighs, 
Why we fly to the grave so fast, 
Why gold on the Autumn and sunset lies, — 
Ask why we cherish and weep o'er the past. 

AUTUMN WIND 

Tear on, thou Autumn wind, tear madly on, 
Bear down the trembling year to a grave of snow ; 
The blooms of yesterday long since are gone 

Where these must go : 
Mad wind, rush on, and sweep the yellow leaves 

To heaps of rust. 

And pile the dust 
On Summer's head, the while a vapour weaves 
A pall for glories of the ebbing day. 
Oh ! give my thy wild wings or bear me too away ! 

NEW YEAR 

So, bear the rest away! 
Let the dull year fret down into the grave. 

The joy you gave, 
O fleeting season, fling along the way 
Like faded flowers; and let the waning ray 
Break its red shaft upon the ebbing wave. 
Let the last shaft break on the restless sea 

And this sad day, 
Sink into slumber. How the New Year laughed 
When she was here ! Alas, our lips have quaffed 
A bitter cup since first the morning gay 
Jangled its bells. The snow is falling; may 
Its winding sheet conceal the past from me. 

So falls the snow upon the pointed spires 
That throw into the air 



47 



The Year's first welcome, waking everywhere 
A hope, a sorrow or the smouldering fires 
In ashes of unsatisfied desires. 

So fall the flakes upon the frozen wolds 
And fences of forsaken folds, 

On silvered rills. 
And dim and misty hills, 
And ivied battlements of ruined holds. 

So falls the level sheet upon the lane 

Where first we wandered in the Autumn rain, 

'Mid whirling showers of red and yellow leaves; 

So its cold shroud the snowflake weaves 

Upon the landscape that we loved ; so drops 

The blessing of the snow upon the eaves 

Of that wide roof beneath the naked tops 

Of ancient elms, 

This New Year morn, 

Where, with another's hand and eye in yours. 

You count the chime that pours 

Like an echo from above, 

Like the lips that whisper love, 

Into your ears the joy that overwhelms 

The future with the glory of the dawn. 

A HOLLY-WREATH 

Here's to the absent host 

And hostess, a Christmas toast: 

Good health and cheer 

Through all the year 

To those we love the most! 

(Waits singing outside) 
"While shepherds watched their flocks by night 
All seated on the ground, 

,48 



The angel of the Lord came down 
And glory shone around." 

Foam on the goblet's brim 

And green round the mirror's rim 

Blaze on the grate, — 

The hour is late 

Ah„ listen, the Christmas hymn! 

(Waits) 
*'Fear not, said he, for mighty dread 
Had seized their troubled mind, 
Glad tidings of great joy I bring 
To you and all mankind." 

Often those notes arose 

From younger voices, while those 

Whose faces still 

Our memory fill 

Tramped out across the snows. 

(Waits) 
"To you in David's town this day 
Is bom of David's line 
A Saviour who is Christ the Lord 
And this shall be the sign." 

Some sleep and some are far, 

And I know not where they are, 

But far or near. 

Their faces here 

Shine like the Bethlehem Star. 

(Waits) 

"The heavenly Babe you there shall find 
To human view displayed. 
All meanly wrapp'd in swathing bands 
And in a manger laid." 

49 



Kindest of friends whose roof 

In sheltering gave us proof 

Of thoughtful love, 

Would we could prove 

Sound weave, through warp and woof. 

(Waits) 

"Thus spake the Seraph and forthwith 
Appeared a shining throng 
Of angels praising God, who thus 
Addressed their joyful song." 

Sound weave, without a tear, 

Be a robe for you to wear, 

Of love's own dye. 

Would God on high 

Should bless you through our prayer. 

(Waits) 

"All glory be to God on high 

And on the earth be peace. 

Good will henceforth from heaven to men 

Begin and never cease." 

Listen, the aged guest 

By the fireside sings his best; 

All swell the chord 

Of the ivory board 

And the bells are chiming the rest. 

HENCEFORTH (TO S. B. C.) 
On the death of William McKinley 

The Nation's dirge prolongs its mournful note 
For the loved chief, struck by a murderer's hand 
The tide hath washed away the name she wrote 
Upon the sand. 

50 



But to the Nation's grief a solemn Shade 
Speaks from the distance of a crystal star: 
"Peace, for the lamentations thou hast made 

My peace doth mar. 
I love thee still as when a living man 
In this mysterious radiance of the dawn, 
And I must suffer as a spirit can 

To see thee mourn. 
For thee I lost to some the name of friend, 
Grown deaf to any other but thy call, 
And sternly fought the fight that hath an end 

Beneath this pall. 
For thee I had unlearned the name of home, 
Content to dwell beneath a roof of thine. 
And share the cup that gave my lips the foam, 

Thy lips the wine. 
I have maintained thy laws, upheld thy right, 
Brought wisdom to thy counsels, drawn the sword 
To shield thine honour, hung its shining light 

Before the Lord. 
For above all I held thine honour dear. 
I trimmed, not lit the lamp; and when it burned, 
To the Ordainer who had sent me here 

Calmly returned. 
Yet I as others loved the glorious world. 
The glint and sheen of sunlight on the trees. 
The white and crimson and the stars unfurled 

Upon the breeze ; 
The song of waking birds, the haunts of men, 
The flowers of the Spring, and when they die. 
When parting splendours flame upon the glen. 

The swallow's cry. 
I felt within my veins the tide of life, 
The hearty throb that answers to the touch 
Of all that makes life dear to us. The strife 

With the death-clutch 
Fell on me suddenly, while thine applause 

51 



Rang in mine ear; — only a little while, — 
And I who lived obedient to Heaven's laws 

Died with a smile. 
Henceforth there is a crown laid up for me 
Which thine own hand shall place upon my tomb, 
And to thy heart my memory shall be 

Light in the gloom. 
But here, where on my path to earthly view 
The dark impenetrable portals close. 
Tell all these little children not to strew 

A fading rose; 
Nay, bind a sheaf, ripe in the golden ear 
Where ye shall lay me down beneath the sod. 
To teach them that a good man's way is clear 

Back to his God. 
And that the labour which I have begun 
Led on from man to man, shall reach the goal. 
Led on from man to man, from sun to sun. 

From soul to soul." 

IN MEMORIAM 

(On the anniversary of the death of William Mc- 

Kinley.) 

Come while a smile on the lip of September 
Lights her farewell to the blossom-crowned days ; 
Kindle the altar flame from its cold ember, 
Scatter above him the roses and bays ; 

Wind him a wreath that shall blazon his story, 
Roses, love-scented, that fade in their bloom, 
Bays that betoken the stateman's true glory 
Shed from the Capitol onto the tomb. 

Head of the State in a moment of peril. 
His was a figure that looms in a land 

52 



Till the great flood with its water of beryl 
Sweeps victor and vanquished like shells on the sand. 

Grave and intent at the helm of the nation 
When a new world opened up on our sight, 
Simple in life as exalted in station, 
Faithful to duty and true to the right, 

Forward, still forward he led, with his eyes on 
Gleams of a future that rose in the West, 
Guiding the Ship to a broader horizon, 
Proving her worthy to vie with the rest. 

Nothing is dead while these memories linger, 
Star of an epoch though set in our sky: 
History writes with unwavering finger 
"Pause at this monument ye who pass by." 

THE SONG OF THE DIAL 

The sun-dial said to the rambler rose : 

"With every bird that swings 
You bend, and with every wind that blows 

Your petals fly like wings. 
Into your cup the gold bee will dart. 

All pollen-splashed and dim. 
What throbs in you when your inmost heart 

You unfold unto him? 
What sighs in the tale you often tell 

When stars glow from the deep 
Like pebbles down in a saphire well, 

And the birds fall asleep? 
There must be joy in a soul that pours 

Such laughter on the day. 
I wish that happiness like yours 

Could chase my gloom away; 
Could chase the shadow laid by time 

Upon this iron face, 

53 



Could there a merrier jingle rhyme 

And brighter letters trace! 
But I must watch till the dawn comes up, 

Send laborers to their task, 
Tell this one to doze and this to sup, 

For that is all they ask. 
The creeping line on my wide bronze disk 

As inch by inch it moves 
Is lonelier than an obelisk 

In its centennial grooves. 
What would I not give one glorious hour 

To be a rose like you, 
And dance with the passing breeze and shower 

My petals in the dew. 
To lift but a moment the hand of time, 

Dull as a friar's hood, 
And be a red-rambler in its prime 

Till Autumn fires the wood!" 

"Your mission", answered the rambler- rose, 

'*Is higher far than mine. 
I sorrow to see you one of those 

Who grumble and repine. 
For patient sages have bowed to learn 

The lesson that you teach, 
And what you bring round to all in turn 

Is God's own gift to each. 
God's gift in His wisdom and His time, 

Measure of joy or grief. 
The burial-toll, the wedding chime, 

The budding and the leaf. 
That shadow upon your disk of bronze 

Has its majestic grace. 
Not softer move the fern's light fronds 

In their appointed place; 
Nor deeper plunge on a summer noon 

Into unfathomed blue 

54 



The flight of clouds and the faded moon 

Than drops a glance on you. 
Records of ages your silence fill, 

Like the boom of the shore, 
Your motionless, hard-limned features thrill 

With visions of yore, 
And graven in iron with none but a shade 

Ever stirring your soul, 
You follow the law of the Worker, who made 

Yonder stars as they roll." 

NIGHT IN THE GARDEN 

My walks are strange at night. The daisies stand 
Transparent cups of fire, while hand in hand 
Angels will sway them with their finger-tips, 
And bend the round, white bowl to touch their lips. 
The poppies scatter to the weary moon 
Their petals, red and white and rose at noon. 
Now burnt out with the day to drifting ashes. 
That float like dreams with golden shoes and sashes 
Along the aisles of slumber. Magic night 
Lies in the garden. Wings that hide their flight 
Beat the still air, and stars, sharp jewelled blooms. 
Tip the black spruce that like a sexton looms. 
Bearing his mace in hand, the moonlit shaft 
Silvered with running sap. Just now they laughed 
Among the shrubs ; I could not catch a sight 
Of any there. They laughed. Mysterious night 
Brushes the gravel with her garment's hem 
And bows the stately fox-glove on its stem. 
Is this the dial, this fretted pile of snow 
Capped with a blinking disk? I hardly know. 
What wizard finger laid a sparkling net 
Of rays across it like a cobweb ? Yet 
The style marks not the hours as soft they steal 
Into the past. A distant mirror's gleam, 
Or the reflection of a summer stream 

55 



So seems the light, dim, fanciful, unreal. 
Even the corn-field seems to melt and flow 
And drip and ripple with the lambent glow; 
While dark as death-plumes in the orchard lie 
The shadows; and a rustle stirs the rye. 

NIENTE 

Nought hast thou done. What answer to the world, 

What answer canst thou give? 
Altho thy heart should bleed, the spear is hurled, — 

What right hast thou to live? 

Nought hast thou done. Though pride should swell 
and break 

The moorings of thy soul. 
These are but eddies of a rock-bound lake 

That restless fret and roll. 

Nought hast thou done. The purpose of the day 

Turned back and set at noon; 
The butterfly was withered as it lay 

Cradled in the cocoon. 

Nought hast thou done. Thy fancies melt in air; 

No work of beauty stands 
To show the crowd how pure and lofty were 

The labours of thy hands. 

Nought hast thou done. No tablet shall proclaim 

Thy merits from the dead. 
No gilded lettering adorn thy name; 

No laurel crown thy head. 

Nought hast thou done. O lonely night forlorn. 

Wasted with barren tears, ' 
While thou awaitest an ungracious dawn 

And unrewarded years. 

56 



TO A POET 

Will you speak as a fool in the ears of a listening 

World? 
Will you pipe to a reed that is dead when the gust is 

still? 
Or gather the blush of a dew-laden blossom unfurled, 
Or like the Danaides, take a seive to hold the rill ? 

Are there not birds in the cover that chirp to the 
sun; 

Breaths in the corn field, the sob and the rush of the 
wind? 

You who can sing, you have left your great duty un- 
done ; 

In your wasted hours and your idle songs, you have 
sinned. 

For shame! Are the fancies of pagans your favorite 

theme ? 
Is the silver front of Astarte your dream of the 

moon ; 
Does an Aphrodite's breast of stone cast a magic 

gleam 
Athwart the laurel shade where falter the roses of 

June? 

It is long since the strain of the Mantuan voiced a 
feeling, 

It is ages since Hercules span at Omphale's feet. 

And since old Silenus, or the wild Bacchante's reel- 
ing 

Stood poised in the bronze as they flashed in the 
scenes of the street. 

Strike nearer home, for they say that the poets are dy- 
ing, 

57 



You trifle with words, and your calling abase to a 
game. 

Interpret the soul of the people, the sinning and buy- 
ing 

And selling and toiling, forever, forever the same. 

SNOW 

Over the marble stair, mantles the snow, chill as the 

dying year, 
Soft as the sunbom cloud, pale as the glow set on a 

twilight mere. 
Ermine royal and flecked ruthlessly soon, lilies and 

foam no more 
Here on the frozen steps vie with the moon, decking 

a princely door. 
Some one has trod and passed; footsteps will light, 

some one has climbed the stair, 
Laid little footprints up, all the long flight, into the 

hallway glare. 
Ermine royal and flecked ruthlessly soon, lilies and 

foam no more 
Here on the frozen steps vie with the moon, decking 

a princely door. 

AT A CONCERT 

Sing you in English "Canzoni" of Florence? 
Chill you their wings in your snow-laden air? 
Glint of the olive and gloam of the torrents, 
Ah! you profane them by all that is fair! 
Out on the tenor who mangles our ballads, 
Rips them to tatters like hail on the vine, 
Harken when Beppo is weeding his salads, 
Planting his artichokes out in a line. 
Under the hills that look south of Fiesole 
Threads of spun crystal slant down through the 
trees, 

58 



And a Madonna beams, placid and holy, 

On the low terraces swept by the breeze; 

Here Beppo sings when a delicate splendor 

Flushes the Apennlne, paling the moon. 

Here Beppo's voice goes up, thrilling and tender, 

Light as the gondolas on the lagoon. 

Laugh, and it laughs with you, nodding carnation, 

Flame in the sunlight and spice in the air. 

Weep, and it weeps with you, sob of a nation. 

Bearing the weight if a wordless despair. 

Sing you In English the ballads of Beppo, 

Trick you them out in the tongue that you speak? 

So might a beauty of Fez or Aleppo 

Mince in high heels with a patch on her cheek. 

ON A READING OF OMAR KHAYYAM 

In what groves of oleander. 
By what fountain's polished rim. 
On the shores of what Meander 
Did you learn that Persian hjnun? 
Scent of orange, fragrant spices, 
Breath of spikenard and of myrrh, 
Beds of lilies, star devices 
On the horizons of Ur; 
Cup of the supreme libation, 
Ruby legend of the grape. 
Palm-girt cradle of the nation 
That has given the world Its shape ; — 
As you read the vision lingers, 
Like a perl's crimson scarf, 
Fluttering between her fingers, 
Shaken by her wondrous laugh. 
Morning touched the East and woke her 
On the mountains of Iran, 
And the desert's sea of ochre 
Tossed about the caravan. 
Westward then the wise men wander 
59 



Till the rising of the Star. 
Poet of the East, look yonder, 
Leap the garden wall, Omar! 
For your idle satisfaction 
In the sunshine and the bowl 
Is a deadening of action 
And a missing of the goal. 
There are odors in the roses 
That are shaken by the rain, 
There are glories life discloses 
Only in an hour of pain. 
Science of the disenchanted. 
Broken pitcher of the dead, 
Why uproot the rose you planted, 
Why unsay the words you said ? 
There is more, O Zoroaster, 
Then the eternal light and shade. 
The initials of the Master 
Are upon the pots He made. 



60 



UNDER THE ROYAL BANNERS 



REQUIEM 

They twine the festive wreath 
About the hearth and shrine, while he lies dead 

In his fair prime, beneath 
The sod, with hemlock on his lonely bed. 

Thou whose Word called to him 
And left us here bereft and sorrowing. 

Father, receive our hymn. 
And shield us with Thine everlasting wing. 

•Rise, shine, behold Thy Star! 
Pour in our hearts the love that is in heaven. 

The faith that all things are 
In tenderness bestowed, in mercy given. 

We said : "Thy will be done," 
Then shall we pause because it is Thy will 

That early this Thy son 
Should worship Thee upon Thy Holy Hill ? 

Over his boyish brow 
Has dawned a ray of the eternal light ; 

Great Father, hear us now: 
We joy that he is standing in Thy sight. 

We prayed : "Keep him from ill," 
And Thou hast deigned to take him by the hand 

Across death's river, still 
Hopeful, and strong, to join Thy glorious band. 

O closer, closer yet 
Earth's veils all riven he draws to us and Thee ; 

Yea, holy Father, let 
His spirit guide us to eternity. 



63 



RECESSIONAL 

The crimson and the green, a gariand maze 
Still hang above the illumined Mother-Maid, 
While rich wood perfumes mingle in the shade 
And the clear hymn joins with the organ praise: 
"From out the forest stealing," nun arrayed 
"The night her mantle throws," — earth's visions 

fade. 
"O'er all our care and yearning," wails the phrase, 
"Our bitter pains and woes" — The voices raise 
Dim spirits from the pictures of stained glass. 
In wintry twilight slowly darkening, 
As the Recessional rolls on. Alas! 
So moves the long march to the grave, a string 
Of choristers. The organ fails. They pass 
The vestry door, and still we hear them sing. 

Church of the Incarnatiotij Jan. 12, 1908. 

IN MEMORIAM 

All Saints Day, Nov. i, 1908 

The organ voice restored now fills the vault 
In grand memorial anthem to the souls 
Enlisted in the armies of the Lord. 
Saints, saints, whose lives have been a sacrifice 
And on whose brows was graven "Holiness." 
They stand in glory, radiant with the light 
That issues from their Captain's eye serene, 
And victory and joy is in their cry. 
While harmony threads the hearts deep recess. 
Our alleluias mingle with the strains 
Of earthly music and of heavenly song. 
Hear us in Thine eternal dwelling-place : 
We dedicate ourselves to follow them 
Whose steps have trod the impress of Thy feet. 

64 



Oh call us each by name, and let us see 
The glory of Thine open countenance. 

On the restoration of the Organ of The House 
of Prayer, In Memory of my brother. 

SONNET 

I scarcely now begin to sing again, 

For when the sudden lightning of thy death 

Silenced my voice, I gazed with bated breath 

Upon the stormy skies and long in vain, 

Or struck upon the lyre a feeble strain 

As low in drought a river murmureth : 

Failing the wrapt Elijah, Scripture saith 

Cherith ran dry amid the parching grain; 

Yet the despairing Prophet felt the thrill 

Of angel touch that bade him rise and bless 

His God for heavenly bread upon the coals 

And brimming cruse. So did I suffer till 

I saw the Vision in the wilderness 

And heard the Voice not heard in thunder rolls. 

EASTER FLOWERS 

{To Rev. J. S. Miller) 

The Angel of the Tomb, at dawn 

Stood on the Altar steps, and blazed 

In the dim twilight. To adorn 

The sanctuary, the Angel gazed 

With saddened eyes for vernal bloom 

Such as should mark the holy Feast; 

But none were there. Then through the gloom 

Three women came with flowers. 

''Though least 
Among the Lord's redeemed, we bring 
These blossoms, watered with our tears 

6s 



Meet for a Paschal offering 

And cherished amid hopes and fears." 

Through folds of a translucent vest 

The Angel's form showed beautiful; 

His sandalled foot, a star that blest 

The floor's clear dyed mosaic. Full 

Upon the speaker looked he. Low 

He spoke, and closely scanned her face: 

"Whence comes thy flower, that I may know 

If it be worthy of this place?" 

The woman answered: "Few will mark 

My flower; it is a humble thing, 

And yet the carol of a lark 

Was sung to it on joyful wing. 

Pearl of the meadow, daisy small, 

So lowly, scarce it has to stoop 

Beneath the tread, and blushed with all 

The careless tramp of men that troop 

Across the sod, immaculate 

It keeps its alabaster crown 

And heart of gold. I conquered late 

A spirit proud and laid it down 

Before the Cross these forty days. 

Lo, where it lay, the blossom clove 

The fostering soil, rayed with His praise 

And meekly glowing with His love." 

"At yonder gate of life. 

The font, thy blossom lay, to blow 

In peace," the Angel said, "Through strife 

Of good and evil here below." 

Lilies the second woman brought; 

Their cup with brimming radiance white 

Beamed like the Chalice richly wrought 

That glows with Eucharistic light: 

"Even as my heart within me burned, 

A throbbing ruby, full of love 

And full of pain, I bowed and turned 

66 



To yonder Cross, and battling strove 

To chasten mortal yearning, torn 

With fitful passion, till I wrung 

Renunciation, heaven-born, 

From earthly pangs, and victor, strung 

Upon His crown another gem." 

Thus spoke she, "And where'er a tear 

Had fallen; a lily diadem 

Circled the Cross." "Such flowers are dear 

To Him who knew temptation. See," 

The Angel said, " 'mid incense smoke 

They shall proclaim His purity 

In sight of all." The last one spoke 

In this wise: "Scarce I dare to bring 

At the solemn close of Lent, 

This my Easter offering. 

On the Master's errands bent 

Little could I pause to grow, 

Hardly could I plough or sow, 

For I tend the Master's sheep. 

But the Master surely said, 

Ere He hung upon the Tree: 

*Ye who break a piece of bread 

With the needy, break with Me.' 

Flowers have I none to bring. 

Yet my basket thus I lay 

On the footstool of my King, 

Broken bread He blest alway." 

Lowly on the Altar stair 

Knelt she, and a tender smile 

Wreathed the Angel's features: where 

Bread had been, no bread was there; 

And a wondrous scent the while 

From fresh violets was cast. 

"Thee," saith he, "the Lord doth greet; 

These shall bloom while Heaven doth last 

From this hour, at Jesus' feet." 

67 



WHILE THESE HUNGER 

A loaf of bread from the baker's cart 

Fell on the frozen ground: 
It lay unnoticed and apart, 

By not a beggar found. 

On virgin snow free from mire and soot, 

At the crossing it lay, 
Till one trampled it underfoot 

As he sped on his way. 

And thus a sacred loaf of bread, 

Christ's own mysterious token, 
By which His poor might have been fed, 

Was trod on and broken. 

SAUL OF TARSUS 

Down from the Temple heights and through the 

streets 
Which saw the daily ministry, he passed, 
Breathing out threatenings against the Church. 
He looked upon the Temple's goodly pile, 
The graceful columns of the outer close, 
The flights of stairs that led into the gate 
And to the brazen altar, and beyond. 
To the high porch before the sanctuary. 
His heart was moved to fury as he thought 
How but a few deluded fishermen 
And publicans, and ploughmen from the fields 
Had stirred a wind that blowing might subvert 
The doctrine of Gamaliel — overthrow 
Once more God's worship on His Holy Mount. 
Thus should the veined and fretted wealth of stone, 
The molten glory of the golden vine. 
The glittering plate of that old ritual, 

68 



Which Moses taught, fall into plunderers' hands ; 
Offended God again would hide His Face, 
The flames devour the gates and broken wall ; 
Amid a growth of overrunning weeds 
The fox should prowl about the Levite's court. . . 
"Rather than this, I pray Thee, give me strength 
And I will slay the men who undermine 
Thy worship even as Samson fell of old 
On the Philistines. Now, defend Thy Name, 
Thou who didst lead Thy people through the sea!" 
The noonday sun fell hot upon the road : 
Damascus showed afar, with shady palms 
And gardens crowned, and girded with her hills ; 
But Saul would fain have spanned the interval 
To seek the elders and display the scroll 
That he might bind the followers of Christ. 
For to the High Priest in Jerusalem, 
Demented with his zeal, he had declared, 
"Give me the letters granting power to slay; 
I shall confound the fiercest, as the wolf 
Pursues his prey, so shall I hunt them down." 
Then while he walked, the sudden blinding light 
That left him stunned and prostrate on the ground. 
Converted in the lurid flash, called forth 
To be in instrument of signal grace. 
He has not lifted from the Holy Book 
The veil that hid that sight from other eyes. 
What had performed the wondrous miracle? 
What apparition stayed his upraised arm? 
It was the Face that martyred Stephen saw, 
When kneeled he dying and besought, "Lay not 
This sin unto their charge." It was the Face 
That those three children in the furnace flame 
Beheld, and walked unscathed. It was the Face 
That radiant beamed above the Colosseum 
When bleeding from the brutal Roman games 
The Christians stood ringed with their murderers ; 

69 



The Face that meets the soldier's failing eye 

Upon lost battlefields where right is slain. 

The Face that Francis in his chapel vowed 

To stamp into his soul; that brush and chisel 

Through later ages have essayed to trace, 

And striving, have bequeathed from time to time 

Fair distant semblance of divinity 

On taper-lighted reredos and wall; 

That gazing on Bar- Jonas contrite moaned, 

'*! love Thee, and Thou knowest, Lord, I love;" 

That Magdalen in the unfolding dawn 

Knew and cried out, adoring, "Rabboni!" 

He saw the Vision that has cheered, the dark 

Of the death valley to devoted men, 

And won the quivering brows of agony 

To estacy in torture and despair. 

Then taking up the banner of the Cross, 

He bore it on to conquer all the world. 

THE LITTLE CHRIST-CHILD 

The little Christ-Child with bare feet 
Walks through the winter snow. 

Along the dark and chilly street; 
Christ-Child, where dost thou go, 

O Christ, where dost thou go? 

"I go this blessed night to see 

My people poor and sad, 
And learn whose loving charity 

Hath wrought to make them glad, 
To cheer and make them glad." 

Lo, as Thou passest, roses blow, 
O Christ-Child, on the ground ; 

Thus walking through the Christmas snow, 
Say, Child, what hast Thou found, 

What deeds of mercy found? 
70 



"A woman sat beside a fire 

That loving hands had lit, 
And round about, mine angel choir 

Left song to blow on it, 
To blow and kindle it. 

A table with good cheer was spread 
Where cheer is seldom seen, 

And the bright lamp that hung o'erhead 
Was hung with holly green : 

Love twined the holly green. 

And once a child as frail as I 

Lay on a bed of pain ; 
The voice that bid it easy lie 

Did sing a carol strain 
A low sweet carol strain. 

Yet find I sorrow want and woe 

At each step on the way. 
The burdens I have borne below 

Share thou this Christmas Day, 
This blessed Christmas Day." 

A CHRISTMAS HYMN 

{Christmas 1891) London 

"Glory to God in the Highest 

And on Earth peace, good will towards Men 



Snow lies upon the moonlit mount 

And ice upon the silent fount, 

A smoky breath wreaths the cold oxen's stall ; 

A distant call 

Rings through the night 
Where shepherds watch their flocks upon the height. 

71 



Silence lies spread with angel wings 

Upon the face of earthly things 

On starry choirs and nature's voice sublime; 

Their ordered chime 

Hushed for a time 
Waits the glad sound the Herald's message brings. 

As in the tempest of Heaven's war 
The fire-plumed Michael seen afar 
Parted the many millioned ranks of light 

To left and right, 

A presence clove 
The thronged skies, Behold the star of Love. 

Oft the grey hills in evening wrapt 
Or dreaming seas in silence lapt, 
Wake to serener beauty, as the moon 

Risen, looks down 

From cloudy oceans pearled 
And shedding streams of peace, transfigures the dark 

world ; 

Yet more than heart has holiest known 

When gazing, pure and mighty grown. 

On heaven's vast peace and earth's illumined sleep, 

More vast, more deep 

A hallowed spell 
From the great Angel's wide spread pinions fell. 

Silent, he steered his level flight 
Till o'er an inn his beacon light 
He lit, a cresset hanging in the sky: 

Forthwith a signal cry. 

To hell's confine, 
Announced the birth of Mary's Son divine. 



72 



Lo, at the sound a radiant throng 

Dimming the moon, with triumph song 

Sweeps the wide plain, from heaven's effulgent walls 

A glory falls 

In shafts of gold, 
As sunlight streams from clouds where thunder 
rolled. 

And now the Seraph, earthward bound 
Closed his six wings : with twain he crowned 
His head, and twain a jewelled girdle lie 

Upon his thigh. 

And twain most fleet. 
Gold sandals, shod with lightning speed his feet. 

His mighty frame oi purest mold, 

Flaming beneath his garment's fold 

Through its translucent vest, with orient glow 

Beams on the snow, 

And as he passes, there 
Fragrance of heavenly flowers fills the air: 

Anon, with look and word benign. 

He shows the wondering herds the sign 

Where cherubs without number float unseen, 

A tender screen 

To shield the Child 
From breath of earth and His young Mother mild : 

''Hail, Saviour born, for Thou alone 

Art holy; Hail, for thou alone 

O Thou Most High, art worthily adored 

Thou only art the Lord." 

Him thus the angel crowd 
Proclaimed, in lowest adoration bowed. 



73 



VESPERS 

{Mentor, Ohio, 1905) 

Many daisies have picked I in summer meadows, 
When the yellow wealth of harvest filled the hollow 

of the hill, 
When the noonday light was checked with pleasant 

shadows 
Here and there upon the hay-field, and the woods 

were hot and still. 

And the summer of its beauty I have plundered 

As I walked about the treasure house that opens to 

us all, 
Often joying, wrapt in silence, I have wondered 
How the Hand that shaped these frail things wrote 

upon Belshazzar's wall. 

Once, as thus I mused, I fancied I was lifted 

To the smokeless Alpine regions where the heavens 

stand ajar. 
And roses that appear when the mists are rifted. 
Bright with spray dashed from the waterfall, root 

in the crannied spar. 

Far below a village lay, sunk in the gloaming, 
Road and spire and inn had slipped away like gar- 
ments dropt at night, 
And the rumble of the torrent and its foaming 
Were nothing more than a murmur and a phantom 
from that height. 

Rising damp that bathes the iris by the river 
Threw a trailing scarf of greyest gauze about the 

mountain base. 
And I felt the lonely wonder with a shiver, 

74 



Like the Israelites who shunned to look their leader 

in the face, 
When he bore the stone law down the path that he 

trod, 
And his countenance dazzled because he had spoken 

with God. 

For suddenly I saw with other eyes 
The daisy in my hand. 
Beautiful, strange, and full of memories, 
As a pale shell upon the sand, 

That will brim with a drop of the ocean, yet mirror 
the skies. 

It took me back to Grison's upland stretch 

Where bees go humming through the scanty vetch; 

This was no flower of the drowzy plain, 

Was I not in the Engadine again? 

The fragrant upland vale where every rill 

That feeds the fresh hued grass is clear as air 

In August noon. All things are sparkling there : 

The pasture smells of lilies, and the hill 

Tinkles with cow-bells, musical as chimes 

From fretted steeples. Thus, to him who climbs 

Albula once, a daisy may recall 

The mountains, pine and crag and waterfall 

And glacier. Never elsewhere have I seen 

White petals with so wonderful a sheen. 

The alabaster of the Engadine. 

And thus you bear us upward to the height. 

With simple words, to clearer, purer light. 

While the old Tale, so old and so well known, 

Grows young and new, for round it you have thrown 

A life, a glow and a color of your own. 

We see the desert. We see a caravan 

In the wake of a star ; 

Angels across the dark throw a silver span 

Like the moonlit bar 

75 



Upon a sleeping sea, when the sails are slack 

And the low wave laps, 

And the sailor's dream in his hammock wings far 

back 
To his home perhaps. . .' . 
Behold the gifts of garden and mine piled up 
In the lap of a stranger. 

Who lays her child, a pearl in a monarch's cup, 
On the straw of a manger; 
We join in the strain of the angelic song 
At Emmanuel's birth; 
For a Leader has risen to right the wrong; 
And, henceforth, "Peace on Earth"; 
Peace, His peace : you pray, to men of honest will. 
His peace be with you. Still, 
As we disperse, there lingers throughout the air 
The perfume of that prayer. 
God bless you for painting the missal of old 
With crimson and with gold. 

FIAT 

Thou hast allowed me half the mortal span, 
The rest is thine. I do not strive or cry. 
Nor shall my voice be heard ; I lived a man, 
And as I lived, I do not fear to die. 
A lonely grave e'en here will not hide all 
Of what has breathed within this mortal form. 
Where it has stood the oak bows to its fall ; 
As it spread sail, the ship has met the storm. 
Though shattered timbers and a floating spar 
Wash to the shore before tomorrow's dawn, 
My name is written where thy records are 
And I am going where thy sons are gone. 
I do not question where. It is enough. 
Thy breath went forth to fashion me. Thy breath 
Recalls and I obey. Through smooth or rough, 
I tread the homeward wav that men call death. 

76 



SILOAM 

Our Lord was gracious and no bitterness 
Mixed with His teaching. This hard punishment 
You speak of from your pulpit, and still less 
Your maudlin "expiation", never lent 
Their color to His doctrine. Calm and clear 
The mighty words dropt healing from His lips : 
"I came to save and bless and banish fear." 

He knew not of the scorpions and the whips 
With which you arm his angels. 

Rumor spread 
Pilate had mingled with their sacrifice 
The blood of Galileans. ( i ) Some were led 
To think the sudden slaughter should suffice 
As proof of sin deserving such a blow 
At Heaven's hand. So judged they those eighteen 
Whom with it's fall Siloam's tower laid low. 
Siloam (Shiloah) also was the scene 
Of Jesus' healing him who from his birth 
Had not beheld the Sun. He said "I am", 
Whereat in madness they took up from earth 
Stones, but He passed them. Surging at the dam. 
The swollen current of relentless hate 
Circled and sank around Him. So he passed, 
And noted one who by the Temple gate 
With sightless eyes sat begging. (2) Jesus cast 
A look of pity. Such He came to save. 
"Behold, I am the light", He touched with clay 
The beggar's eyes: "Wash in Siloam's wave". 
The man obeyed, and he was whole straightway. 
Thus the same word Shiloah brings to mind 



(i) Luke xiii. 4. (2) John ix. 2. 

"Siloam : Sent is an admissible interpretation ; but the 
original meaning is rather sending. St. John sees in the 
word nomen et omen. — Bishop Perowne. 

77 



Delivered twice. They asked whose sin the rod 
Deserved, the parent's or the child's that blind 
He entered life: "Nor his nor theirs, but God 
Willed through his lips here to be glorified. 
Work, work while there is light. Seek not the sin 
But God's own righteousness", the Lord replied. 
"Judge not the judgment nor the life within, 
Hidden from sight beyond your narrow ken, 
Nor deem those evil beyond other men 
On whom the tower fell and Pilate's sword. 
Keep watch upon yourselves". Thus said the Lord. 

HAND AND BRAIN 

''The Sons of Mary seldom bother ^ for they have in- 
herited that good part J 

But the Sons of Martha favor their Mother of the 
careful soul and the troubled heart; 

And because she lost her temper once, and because 
she was rude to the Lord^ her Guest, 

Her Sons must wait upon Mary's Sons — World 
without end, reprieve, or rest,'' 

{Rudyard Kipling.) 

If you believe in the Gospel Story, and do not make 

it a forceful myth. 
Writing your verses for empty glory, robbing the 

narrative of its pith; 
If you believe in the Master's kindness, ready to see 

as the Master sees. 
And do not share in the High Priests' blindness, nor 

in the pride of the Pharisees, 

Burn no incense to any idol, open the Book at anoth- 
er page. 

The Lord never encouraged the idle and worked 
hard in the strength of His age. 

78 



Where the want was, His hand was ready, where 
the work was awaiting His days were spent; 

And the blow was never unsteady that He aimed in 
His wrath at self-content. 

Let not your large heart, Kipling, bewilder, but keep 

your eye on the larger hope. 
Let not the ship's captain scorn the builder, nor the 

pilot the man at the rope. 
To girder and derrick be honor given, to tunnel and 

bridge their lawful place; 
The factory may bring us nearer heaven, by teaching 

the love of a brother's face. 

Yet is there good but in hard labor? Friend, is there 

use but in crow-bar and pike? 
Had they skill but in fife and tabor, those who have 

taught how the fighters should strike ? 
Nay! Dignity comes of a task well done in tailor's 

cloth or in overalls, 
And the duty lies upon every one to trim his lamp 

ere the Bridegroom calls. 

Sons of Martha and Sons of Mary who honestly 

work while you have the light. 
Even in this world the Lord is not chary of his 

rewards in your fellows' sight. 
If carpeted ease be the goal to win, electric bulbs on 

a paneled wall, 
Those who have won have the greater sin, and earth 

has no recompense at all. 

Turn from the feast where Dives carouses, do not 

stand staring at shaken reeds; 
Men finely clad are in rich men's houses, not where 

the foot-weary Saviour leads. 
There's a better part, it is no fiction ; Jesus said these 

words in solemn truth, 
79 



When the shadow of the crucifixion loomed across 
the visions of His youth. 

Or if your cry be the disproportion between the task 
of the hand and brain, 

The idle thinker is an abortion — the brutal butcher a 
thing as vain. 

Jesus said not "Martha, lo you labor, and your ser- 
vice counts to me for naught". 

But, "You trouble, and behold your neighbour list- 
ens to the word the wise have sought". 

He condemned not Martha's sons in anger who for- 
gave his murderers in death; 

Laid no burden on their souls in rancour, He who 
ministered while He had breath. 

"Father", Said He, raising eyes to heaven, "All the 
work Thou gavest me is done". 

Shall the loved disciple be forgiven for neglecting 
work laid on the Son? 

CHRISTIAN BELIEF 

Not mere lip-service, praises softly sung. 
Altar-devotion, does God ask of ye, 
Nor prayer from hearts that are too sharply wrung 
To bear the weight of their infirmity. 

He does not love the sacrifice of flowers 
That he has given to deck the path ye tread, 
He does not claim the measure of the hours 
That He has writ in stars above your head. 

All these are His; presumption flaws the gift 
Of wealth returned that was in kindness given : 
He does but ask you faithfully to lift 
Your earth-bent eyes and erring wills to heaven. 

80 



He saith: "I ask that ye should let the sun 
Into your hearts, and bravely stand the light; 
Wince not if it should pain; I have begun 
To win my world more wholly from the night, 

That love should flow from man to man, as I 
Have let it freely flow to man from God, 
That ye should follow in His purity 
Him who most meekly man's sad journey trod." 

The Galilean showed us once the road, 
Can we not follow ? Washed with blood and tears 
Behold His path, sin-free. The end He showed 
To shameful death surrendering His years. 

Then shall we falter? Tenderness divine 
Bestowed in toil and pity every hour 
He showed, through tasks to which the low incline 
Weakly or w^earily. His was the power 

Of infinite forgiveness, fortitude 

To love through suffering, devoid alike 

Of pride or passion, the similitude 

Of God in man He was. Love Him, or strike 

His Name with your contempt. Oh, choose your 

part: 
You must be with this Man, divine indeed, 
Or else against Him. Brace a willing heart 
Beneath the thorns that tears and make it bleed, 

And raise it, mangled, chastened, ever higher, 
To perfect virtue ( Expiation ? Nay 
But truer justice, plucking out the briar 
Though growing deep about the rose, I say) 



8i 



Or come and tell Him : "Thou art not my friend ; 
Thy way and mine are parted, we must go 
Our several ways to God." But peace, I know 
The pure in ^eart shall see Him in the end. 

CONFESSION 

I am ashamed to moan, though suffering. 

The pain I bear is not a meed severe. 

I am ashamed to weep. The tears I shed 

Are not sufficient to wash out the stains 

Thou knowest, and I. I am ashamed to pray, 

As there is no petition I can make 

But it convicts me of ingratitude 

While importuning Thee for further grace. 

What can I offer that is not Thy gift? 

How can I labor, but sustained by Thee, 

To use the strength Thou dost infuse in me? 

Ah! through my inmost being courses shame. 

And love still hotter than the searing shame 

That bows me, humble, suppliant, at Thy feet. 

I have been proud among my fellow men. 

Borne high my brow, while Thine was crowned with 

thorns. 
I have been shaken with that earth-born ague 
A sickened longing for a human love. 
And struggled on my way only to feel 
The cut and sting of brambles and of briars, 
Impeding progress. Lo I come to Thee 
Wounded and fallen. Wilt Thou raise me Lord ? 
Once more forbearing Saviour wilt Thou deign ? 
I now distrust myself, I dare not say 
As once I did, "Help a last time, a last". 
I know that I have fallen, still may fall, 
And resolutions rosy in the dawn 
Sink cold and lifeless in the dusk of eve. 
I have dragged down the soul Thou gavest me, 

82 



And soiled the silver-white baptismal vow 

Upon my forehead : not with sins of sense, 

But with the dail)^ sin of faithlessness. 

I have not so much left of confidence 

Or fortitude to say that I shall stand, 

For I have measured the full stature now 

Of mine own wretchedness; I find it huge 

To overwhelming, and the truth is blazed 

Upon my vision like a furnace glow : 

There is no good in me, my God, my God! 

Whence comes the power which thus can mar Thy 

works ? 
The issue is indeed most terrible 
Which Thou hast challenged in creating man : 
Thy image is defaced in all Thy sons. 
We fight in darkness, and we sink and die: . 
The torch is quenched, how easily — and then, 
What then? Hast Thou no answer but to turn 
Thy glorious Face away, Maker divine ? 
Thou knowest the sharp struggles and the blows 
I must sustain in fighting down myself. 
And the unconquerable tendencies 
That bring their curse. Better a thousandfold 
The midnight theft and fierce marauder's sin 
Or brutish crimes of wine-besotted fools. 
Than sin like mine that circles round the dial 
And faces me when e'er I face myself. 
Thou clear coast beacon of life's driving sea, 
Shine on the rocks oi our impending doom 
And guide to haven those who trust in Thee. 

MEDITATION 

Through the wide window shone the Paschal moon, 
Where in an upper chamber, gathered round 
Their Master, sat the twelve apostles, soon 
To lose Him. In the night a rustling sound 

83 



Of boughs scarce flowered, and a tender scent 

And soft wings by the casement brushing sped ; 

While glinting sidelong the pure lustre lent 

Its limpid glory to the Saviour's head. 

The lamp upon the table flickered clear 

And threw grouped shadows on the naked wall; 

Or did celestial cohorts hover near 

To draw a ready weapon at His call ? 

A hush was spread upon Jerusalem 

As Jesus sat with those He loved so well, 

And broke the bread and drank the wine with them, 

Then on the awed assembly silence fell. 

O rapt communion, when the chalice borne 

In His own hand with light suffused the gloom, 

Not to be theirs again till Easter morn 

Beheld the open sepulchre illume! 

O fleeting space for strong devotion's plea. 

Of full oblation offered to His love. 

When each heart echoes, "I will die with Thee," 

Pronouncing vows temptation shall disprove! 

He did not dwell on His own suffering, 

Nor upon Judah's dark o'erhanging doom, 

Nor on His people's cry that was to bring 

His radiant life in anguish to the tomb; 

Sharper than nails and thorn, the pang of love 

Rejected, pierced Him and He sought to save: 

By martyr-prophecy He strove to win 

Judas Iscariot from a traitor's grave. 

He told of a deceiver's presence. Yea, — 

Could Judas live and yet endure the smart? 

He pointed out the hand that should betray. 

And probed the foulness of a human heart. 

He gazed upon the sheep which He had lost 

Out of the fold that Scripture be fulfilled. 

And as the swords of Christ and Satan crossed 

Perchance the eyes of the Redeemer filled, 

Granting the monstrous sin a final grace, 

84 



The pity of a God about to die, 
While Judas looked into that wondrous Face, 
Questioning also: "Master is it I?" 
Then Judas went into the deepening night, 
And of his alien presence freed, great peace 
Upon the Master brooded, for His sight 
Embraced the sacrifice and the release. 
He nevermore should taste with them the fruit 
Of clustered vine. They marveled at the word, 
i his was the last time Hell in fierce pursuit 
Should challenge Him ere crowned ; the last they 

heard 
His prayer in breaking bread ; the mystic feast 
No more He was to share ; thus He v/ould leave 
An empty throne in Israel; the High Priest 
Forsake their altar : theirs the hour to grieve. 
But as the youngest leaned upon His breast, 
Surely some whispered consolation given 
Spoke to the loved disciple what the rest 
Should learn when He had entered into Heaven. 
"All be offended!" Untried faithfulness, 
Simeon's — and like the rough-hewn block of stone 
Waiting the chisel — cries out in distress: 
"Though all shall fail, I follow Thee alone." 
Sweet the familiar converse with Him seemed. 
And vividly the past returned to mind : 
The misery His mercy had redeemed, 
The broken reed that He had stooped to bind. 
And teachings listened to with idle ears, 
While resting on the broad suspended oar, 
And parables scarce marked in other years 
Recurred with meaning never known before. 
They thought of Him as He rebuked the storm, 
The Christ so dimly comprehended yet, 
Whose unrecorded utterances inform 
The silent margin of Genesaret. 
And three, the chosen, could recall the scene 

85 



Upon the sacred mountain where they saw 
His majesty, as praying He had been 
Unveiled between the Prophets and the Law. 
But now the words they barkened to with dread 
Conveyed a strange sad warning from the Lord : 
''I send you not as once I did," He said, 
"Provide you scrip and purse, and buy a sword." 
Their souls aglow with His divine farewell 
His charge, "Do this in memory of Me," 
They followed Him across the broken dell 
Where Kedron flowed below Gethsemane. - 
None in the solitude shall pray with Him, 
And none shall see the sweat upon His brow; 
Beneath the Olive trees the moon is dim 
Only one angel waits upon Him now. 
When He is led into the judgment hall 
Simon denies Him, others turn to fly: 
Yet they rose consecrated from the fall — 
That night had taught them faith in Calvary. 

IN THE WILDERNESS 

When Jesus went into the wilderness 
At God's own word to meet the Tempter there. 
He never yet had looked on Satan's face 
With human eyes, and thus invisible 
Satan addressed the Saviour of mankind. 
"Thou whom I scarcely dare to name, but love 
Since hovering near, I first descried thy home 
Whose threshold I did never desecrate 
With my unhallowed step. Thou whom I loved 
A youth among thy comrades, full of grace 
And full of power, so much thyself, in spite 
Of shrouding, that I marvel still to see 
Thy majesty unhonoured among men; 
Thou virgin-born, who didst escape the stain 
Of parent sin, thou never yet hast felt 
Polluting touch of mine. In angel form 

86 



Thine early days have often watched me pass 

Upon the market place and on the road, — 

Thou hast not ever seen me otherwise, 

For I was not to meet thy boyhood's gaze. 

My wing brushed not the lintel of thy house ; 

But through the open doorway, like a wind 

Hot from the East of Jordan, blew about 

The fragrant shavings scattered from thy plane 

And threw them whirling out into the air 

As I have tossed the souls of evil men. 

I mingled with the sun that through the roof 

Beamed on thy mother from thy Father's eye ; 

So watched thee on her lap, and wondering; 

So heard her later teach thee word by word 

The song she learned of angels, about thee. 

Dost thou remember, at Capernaum, 

One evening by the well-side came a maid 

To draw, and thou didst stoop and lower down 

Her earthen pitcher, 'mid the little stars 

That laughed at heaven ? A moving in the leaves 

Which thou didst take to be a dusky owl 

Disturbed among the laurels, startled her, 

And trembling she drew back. It was my shade 

Unseen of thee, she saw across the well. 

My love should not offend thee, since as much 

As any of the loveliest things that breathe, 

I claim thy workmanship, an instrument 

Within thy hand, as surely as the tool 

In Joseph's workshop, laying hold of which 

Thy holy fingers wrought a thing of use. 

I could not see thy manhood ripen out 

Into its fullness like the rounded moon 

Above yon barren desert, and not feel 

Its beauty stir me as the solemn words 

Men sometimes speak at death. I could not be 

So miserable, even in the fall 

That cast me from my state, as to forget 

87 



Thy face, Jehovah, though I see It veiled. 

My love shall not offend thee, though my hand 

At thy decree v^^ithstand and seek to foil. 

Here, gifted with the power to overthrow, 

I worship thee and supplicate thee. Stand. 

Conquer, and hasten on the end of days 

Till this my work accomplished, and forgiven 

Mine own offence, I be restored to sight 

Of thy revealed effulgence. This is hell 

To be withheld thy presence. This is hell 

To be thy messenger of trial, the stone 

Whereon the world must stumble. Death itself 

Bears no such weight of terrible distress 

As I, accursed and wandering the earth. 

To watch the blush of shame rise In a cheek 

That was as lily pure as those same flowers 

Thou trod'st about the fields of Nazareth; 

To whisper foul rebellion in an ear 

That just has heard Its Maker's ordinance; 

And when a man has risen from his knees, 

To pluck good resolution from his grasp 

Until he scorns himself — yea, this is hell. 

Thou once didst see me drop, a levin bolt, 

Into the void. Drive now the power from earth 

That thwarts thine end." But Jesus here first spoke: 

"It cannot thwart me but as I allow. 

I will not yet drive evil from the earth. 

Satan, the hour of peace is not yet come. 

Son of destruction, I am come through thee 

To feel the heaviest scourge that ever fell 

Upon the shoulders of a criminal." 

"If I obey" — thus Satan, — "I must strike 

Thy manhood In its frailty till the flame 

Flickers upon thy lamp and horror spreads 

Within the darkened chambers of thy will. 

So when the story of thy life is told 

For future generations, words shall fail 

88 



The writer to express thine agony. 

Not iron driven through thy living flesh, 

Nor public shame that w^ithers self esteem, 

Nor the forsaking by thy bosom friend, 

Nor deafness to thy prophesies, nor sight 

Of the despairing woman by the Cross, 

Not the withdrawal of thy God's support, 

Nor yet thy awful meeting Death alone 

Shall minister this cup of bitterness; 

For know, the King of Terrors is not Death : 

Omniscient save of evil in thyself. 

Or of the stress brought on a human soul 

When I approach and speak and stand revealed." 

Then Jesus, with mild firmness answered him : 

"That I shall conquer thee, I do believe. 

Confiding in the strength He grants to men. 

Who saith He will not suffer thee to tempt 

Beyond endurance. I have laid aside 

The power that hurled thee through the gates of 

dawn. 
Reveal thyself to me and I shall meet 
Thine onset, and repel it as a man." 
At this command, the wilderness, laid bare, 
Concealed from Jesus' sight all loveliness. 
A leopard glided to his feet and fixed 
The desert's gaze upon his solitude; 
Searing and still, the rocks strewd all about 
Mock shapes of bread, to him alone thus given 
A stone in lieu of daily sustenance. 
And he could find no water for his lips. 
Then Satan answered Jesus: ''To obey 
I must again be what I was before 
I rushed from Paradise, a hurricane, 
Into the vales of Hell. A mighty Shape 
Once more in this encounter I shall stand, 
As when I routed all thy Seraphim 
Upon the heavenly field. Arise! Prepare 

89 



Thyself, O God in mortal guise. Fulfill 

Thy wondrous thought. Lo ! darkness shall prevail 

Upon thy soul of light when I take up 

The spiritual weapons at thy word, 

As seen through human eyes behold me then, 

And gather all thy strength to look on me." 

THE PROPHET 

{To my Brother) 

In the cool shade of Lebanon, at noon, 
A young man trod the mountain path alone, 
A skin about his loins, and his bare head 
All unprotected from the beating sun 
That glared upon the naked rocks above. 
Where he was soon to walk. Beside him lay, 
Bathed in the shimmering noonday heat, a stretch 
Of grassy meadows where the bleating flocks 
Nibbled, and brawling rills foamed on the stones 
That lay about the mountain foot in piles 
Strewn like the fragments of a ruined wall. 
Yet work of human hands was none around : 
Far as the eye could reach, the waving plain. 
Colored with varying lights, spread out before, 
And palm trees' feathered branches crowned the tops 
Of broken hillocks, on a sky so blue, 
So deep and shadowless, the dazzling light 
Seemed to pour down in sheets of living flame 
From the huge vaulting of a painted dome 
Pillared upon the heights of Lebanon. 
Fair from the plain, and fairer from the hill 
Was the wide prospect, as the young man stood 
And gazed upon it from beneath his hand. 
But little pleasure seemed he to derive 
From the long contemplation, for a sigh 
Escaped him, and he turned upon his way. 
And the pure light of his deep eyes appeared 
To glow more strangely and to fix upon 

90 



An inward vision as he climbed the hill; 

Now struggling with the thorny shrubs that grow 

In crannies of the rock, now breathing hard 

And straining nerve and sinew to obtain 

A foothold, as the earth beneath him yields 

And loosened stones slide dizzily away. 

Wild were the leap from such a height to fall 

Down to the stream that twinkles there below! 

And the bent cedar round whose ancient trunk 

He clasps his arm, creaks with the weight unused, 

Ready to totter. But the sailor's eye 

Is not more steady than the mountaineer's, 

And such the children of the soil are trained 

Where the scant pasture of the valley leads 

The herdsman to the heights his flocks to feed ; 

Or simple huntsmen, armed with knife and bow 

Track the wild beast unto his native lair 

To furnish food and raiment. And the hand 

That torn with briar and brushwood, such a grasp 

Yet lays upon yon cedar-bough, the eye 

That roams so fearlessly along the steep, 

Have driven the knife into the panting quarry 

And winged the errless arrow to the mark. 

But other purpose far now brings him here. 

For in his hand nor bow nor shepherd's staff 

He holds, no wallet for the needs of life. 

For food and water in this wilderness 

He carries, — nothing; and his being seems 

Within it one absorbing thought to bear. 

And one alone. Now, as he wins the top, 

He lays himself upon the ground, and rests 

His head upon his hand, beneath a rock 

That throws a clear-cut shadow on the grass 

Against the sunlight reared. And the still shade 

Slowly revolving, slowly died away. 

The sunset lights sank from the flaming hills, 

The distant snows flushed crimson and grew pale, 

91 



As though the mountains kindled all to fire 
And then to ashes turned, and twilight hushed 
The cheerful sounds of wood and field and vale, 
While in the fresh'ning sky a violet shade 
Crept up and up, and all the stars appeared. 
Yet still he lay, his head upon his hand. 
Surely no idler would have toiled so hard 
To climb this lonely height for pleasure's sake, 
For lounging in the sunny grass all day! 
And that strong frame was never bound and knit 
Without the effort of an active will. 
Nor does he seem in ecstacy to lie 
Like some day-dreamer, weaving in his brain 
Poetic fancies, for his eye is clear 
And like a beacon still and steady burns 
Beneath his waving hair. Some thought is there 
And every sense is hushed as in his soul 
He follows out his meditation high. 
But wherefore in this desert? Is there not 
Space for seclusion in the pleasant vale? 
What theme pursues his thought, must needs com- 
mand 
This awful solitude ? Forbear to ask : 
The ground whereon ye walk is holy ground, 
Yea, put the shoes from off your feet and kneel. 
As night invades the hills a rising wind 
Rustles amid the sun-dried grass, a breath 
That seems of some eternal spirit stirs 
The soundless air. Then the young man arose. 
Folded his arms upon his breast, and walked 
Beneath the stars with bended head and words 
He heeded not escaping from his lips: — 
"I am unworthy of so high a task. 
And young, and unexperienced, seek, I pray. 
Another for this office. Lord, not. me." 
But in the wind a voice was heard to say : 
"It is for Me to make My choice, — ^not thee." 

92 



"I am a child in years, a child in mind, 
And in Thy sight, the wisest but a child, 
Eternal Wisdom." And again the Voice: 
"Wisdom is Mine and I will teach thee truth: 
Do thou My will." At this, upon his knee 
The young man fell, for he was overwhelmed 
Before that Presence. Throbbing in his veins 
The hot blood went and came, as if a blow 
Had felled him to the ground, 
While in his ear the solemn words still rang: 
"Do thou My will." 

• What struggle in his breast 
Awakens at the sound ? For in his hands 
His face he hides, and: "Spare me. Lord!" he cries, 
With all his soul in keenest agony 
And supplication straining, and his face 
In its full manly vigor, stamped with pain 
So sharp and deep that every line is wrung. 
"Thou shrinkest from thy weakness, not the task, 
But what the task must tear thee from." The Voice 
Fell burning on his ear, and lower bent. 
He bowed as in a storm the forest oak. 
Bare to the lightning veils its top and bows 
Before the storm. "The world has little joy. 
And gladly would I leave the world," he said ; 
Or rather, through his mind, the thought on wings 
As swift as swallows flew, or as a bird, 
Flu tt' ring to hide its treasure, to the view 
Suddenly bared ; for as an open book 
The thought is read by Him who knows the hearts 
Of men, all naked in His sight exposed. 
"Thou wouldst not leave the world until the face 
Of one thou lovest fadeth from thy heart," 
"Thou knowest all things, and Thou knowest this," 
He answered. "Vain to hide, vain to deny, 
(And that I would not if I could) the truth. 
Thou knowest better far than I myself 

93 



How much in me there is to train and teach, 

How much to strengthen and to purify. 

Weak in this inward battle, how should I 

Preach to Thy people and declare Thy word ? 

But if it must me so. Thy instrument 

Is in Thy hand, Almighty, lift Thou me, 

I cannot raise myself, but kneel to Thee, 

And Thou Who gavest the will canst give the power 

To reach to Thee." ''Nay, thou must choose alone 

To stand or fall," the Voice in answer said. 

And all was silence. Thus, throughout the night 

The arching heavens silent looked upon 

The kneeling man and on the starlit hills. 

Then, with the dawn, he rose, the traces still 
Of that night-struggle in his stern sad face. 
But master of his will. No food had touched 
His lips since yestermorn, and many a day 
Upon the heights was to arise and set 
Ere food should touch again the lips to prayer 
Now consecrated. But the trial o'erpast, 
One quiet eve he bent his steps once more 
To that green valley whence he came, and there 
He mingled with his fellow-men, but not 
As erst he did ; while all in wonder gazed 
Or spoke to him with awe; for in his eye 
And on his brow was set the burning mark 
Of Him Who said: "I will baptize with fire." 



94 



PARNASSIA PALUSTRIS 



PARNASSIA PALUSTRIS 

I oft have watched thee bend and toss 

Where on a mountain's windy crest 
The winged steed had stamped, the moss 

With starry hoofs, to flight addrest. 
And often as I roved among 

The pastures of my Eastern land, 
Thy pale white blossoms I have strung 

In garlands with a childish hand. 
Their loveliness unknown to fame 

Still glimmers in the upland grass 
And thus amid my verse thy name 

Shall twinkle as the wind doth pass. 

GRASS OF PARNASSUS 

"The flower I speak of is a white cup, veined by 
a delicate green tracery, upheld on a straight slen- 
der almost grass-like stem and containing a circle of 
peculiar velvety, pale green stamens . . . one of the 
most exquisite of its kind and growing as it does in 
. . . desert places, one of the most ethereal looking/' 

London Spectator. 



97 



WILD SWAN 

He rocks to the waters' rythmic sound 

And flashes a pearly gem 
Upon Leman's brow of azure, bound 

By the mountain's diadem. 
Glorious in fullness of noonday hue, 

When a dazzling radiance glows 
Over the woodland, and dries the dew 

On the warm lips of the rose. 

Soft, in the reeds where the river glides 

Into the arms, of the lake 
Blows the wild wind, while the plover hides 

Amid the cool, waving brake. 
Amid the reeds, like a flame of white 

Enclosed in a silver ring. 
Rocks the swan in his cradle of light 

To the breeze's whispering. 

The fishers steer in the grey of the dawn 

In the dusk of snow storm-driven. 
I hear the roll of a chariot borne 

On the mighty winds of heaven : 
Billows break on the breast of the lake 

And lash into yeasty foam, 
The fishers reef and for harbor make, 

For the swan is flying home. 

Stretch forth thy sinews, O swan, O Love, 

Thy flight o'er the water flings 
A shadow below, to clouds above. 

The deep whirring of thy wings. 
Stretch forth thy sinews, then sink to rest 

In thy nest of reeds and down, 
As on the steel of the glacier's crest 

Dawn sets her eglantine crown. 

98 



Upon the lake Is a castle wierd ; 

Its courts with splendour fill 
When the moon's enchanted rim has cleared 

The top of the nearest hill. 
Tall pines like sentinels, stand straight 

In lines all round about it, 
And mounted horsemen silent wait 

Within it and without it. 

Washing the base of its terrace stair 

Sough the waters of the lake. 
A mist-robed maid is watching where 

Waves upon the marble break. 
To the feet of her who stands forlorn 

With outstretched arms in the night 
The form of a stately swan is borne 

On the gem strewed waves of light. 

When comes the dawn, are thy white wings furled 
With the moonlight's wizard beams, 

Mysterious guest of the wonder-world, 
O Swan of the land of dreams! 

SONG 

Alas for the wind in the timothy field, 

As it blew in those days, as it blew, 
When the love of my heart, like a fountain unsealed, 

Flowed for you dearest love, flowed for you. 

Yet once more let the sun through the apple bough 
shine, 

As it gleamed at the dawn, as it gleamed. 
Once again be your love to this old heart of mine 

What it seemed at eighteen, what it seemed. 

For an hour, let the clouds with a mantle of grey 

Veil the barren horizon of truth, 
And the dim purple hills fold the present away 

Whilst I breathe in the air of my youth. 

99 



LURELEI 

Witch's fingers on the harp 

Touch the light strings; 
Witch's hand through woof and warp 

The shuttle swings, 
Magic in the swirling stream 

In Rhine's dark pool: 
Death in thy blood-curdling scream 

Poor drowning fool! 

Still the foam dances golden 

Over the place; 
None has ever beholden 

The dead man's face. 
Who shall give words to thy song, 

Enchanted swirl, 
Who watch for thee all night long, 

O Fairy Girl? 

Elf-light dances on her rock. 

Dread Lurelei! 
Spell-bound fishers hear her mock 

Their lullaby. 
Wild her yellow hair is tost, 

Water sprites gloat 
Over the fisherman lost. 

Lost with his boat. 

ENGINE 72 

Fire! Fire! Fire! 
Who are these that ride on the wings of the wind 

To the clang of a brazen bell, 
While the lurid light is vaulting higher: 

Have the men or their fathers sinned 

That they ride top speed into hell ? 

100 



Fire! Fire! Fire! 
The crimson curse hangs on a pillar of smoke. 

The shrill call sounds ! These ^y to greet 
Death and the hero's funeral pyre, 

Where struggling titans hiss and choke 

As the flames and the waters meet. 

Fire! Fire! Fire! 
Amid crashing beams and a sickly stench 

They have battled with odds too great; 
And through, falling bricks and pools of mire, 

They leap to the grave and wrench 

Living bays from the hand of Fate. 

THE SECRET OF THE SHELL 

Where grew the flowers that blossom here? 

"In China-land," I hear them say. 
Where bamboo towns bear names so queer. 

And where the feldspar turned to clay. 

Once on the strand was found a shell. 
Its half-closed, silent, gleaming lip 

Turned to the wave that rose and fell 
And left it lustrous with the drip. 

The foam of native Crine. A man 

Whose years were spent in studious thought, 

Whose eyes were bent to peer and scan 
The nature marvels that he sought, 

Had found the shell that owned no name. 

Through days of patient toil he strove, 
Before the stubborn furnace flame. 

To twin that shell. A Vision clove 



lOI 



Its folded curtains, where it lay 

On the porch matting. Have I said 

This happened in a by-gone day? 
Dim splendour lit the Vision's head : 

It spoke in this wise: "Fire, and glaze 
And fire again. In deeps I grew. 

Where sleep all hidden things." Amaze, 
That stole away its proper hue 

Spread on the Potter's yellow face. 

I did not state his face was yellow; 
It was the fashion of his race: 

The hue was rich, antique and mellow. 

He answered not, but promptly fell 

To putting back into the oven 
His rounded clay, and did full well; 

Ere long the Kaolin had proven 

A mimic sea shell, smooth and fair. 

Such is the story as he told it. 
" 'Tis brittle," quoth the Sprite, and rare, 

Be careful as to how you hold it." 

In fire the Potter dipped his brushes, 
And with its wondrous hues arrayed 

His pots, that on the floor of rushes 
The scenes of China-land displayed. 

So you can see them if you will, 
The glories of the glaze and stain. 

Whenever on your window-sill 
You set a vase of porcelain. ( i ) 



(i) Porcelain, from porcelana "a little pig", so 
called by the Portuguese traders, from its resem- 
blance to cowrie-shells, the shape of which is not unlike 
a pig's back. The Chinese earthenware, being white 
and glossy like the inside of the ' shells suggested the 
application of the name, — Brewer Diet, of Phrase and 
Fable. 

I02 



Warriors in golden armour cross 

Gem-hilted weapons, on a field 
Pied with strange flowers and emerald moss, 

And apple trees of onj^x yield 

Their garnet fruit. A high-bred maiden. 
Screening her smile from some gay lord. 

With gorgeous vesture heavy laden. 
Trips over an enamel sward. 

Or cranes of huge dimensions scare 

A brood of iridescent ducks. 
And fish of unknown waters flare 

And float beneath an amber ''flux." 

Or turquoise bridges, on a ground 

Of molten pearl, throw azure shades. 

And brooks of indigo flow round 
The twisted roots of violet glades. 

In that dim land of long ago. 

Amid its secrets long time hid. 
Did those odd little flowers blow 

To blossom on your tea pot lid. 

SONG 

This is Spring's hymen, where art thou 
Thou whom I love ? Here she trails. 
Trails with her scented robe touching, 
Touching the stream and the fields ; 
Fields where the primrose is peeping. 
Peeping and calling for thee. 
Thee O beloved of my young days. 
Days that forever are flown. 



103 



TRIBUTE TO A FRIEND 

He shed a kindly light, still rich to give, 
With lavish bounty unimpoverished. 
For open to the heavens like a mount 
That feeds the valleys with perennial streams, 
He taught the kindness that he learned of God. 

VISION 

She walked by the sea in her robe of blue 

And the waves ran in at her feet. 
Her golden feet of the clifE's own hue 

As it glows in the mid-day heat. 
And her red hair flew to the east and west 

Like the weeds of an ocean cave. 
Wherever they float on a mermaid's breast 

Or cover a sailor's grave. 

EDITH OF TYNEWOLD 

{Ballad) 

Ho! light the hall, prepare the feast, 
Lord Edgar's daughter weds to-night 

With Malvern Grey who in the East 

Hath won the spurs of Christian Knight. 

Three years ago their secret troth 
They plighted in the cedar grove. 

But kept it from Earl Edgar, loth 
To bring his curse upon their love. 

For higher then could no man look 

Than Tynewold Hall, throughout the land, 

And ill would Lion Edgar brook 

To grant a Squire his daughter's hand. 

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The dial-shadow, day by day, 

Still left unchanged the lovers' hearts; 
She grew to womanhood, and Grey 

Wandered and fought in distant parts. 

Years come and go, the taper burns ; 

At last the old Lord Edgar died. 
To-night Sir Malvern Grey returns 

To claim and wed his promised bride. 

Now hark! the warder's bugle rings, 
And hark! The sound of horses feet, 

The window wide the lady flings 
To be the first her lOiight to greet. 

Thus standing in the clear torchlight 
Some fairy vision Edith seems, 

While out upon the snow^ night 

The radiance from the window beams. 

A rider leads two steeds apace, 
With battle stains upon his dress 

Full freshly flecked in eager chase. 
The other horse is riderless. 

"Across the bleak and desert wold 
That sentinels the gusty plain," 

Sir Malvern's Squire the story told, 
"His charger flew with trailing rein. 

We followed to the Devil's bowl 
That gleams half hidden in the brake, 

Secured and tracked him to the knoll 
That shelves above that baleful lake. 

The dawn confirmed our worst alarms; 
Whinned the charger white with froth, 

105 



Bearing the dragon coat of arms, 
Embroidered on his saddle cloth." 

Weep, Lady Edith, weep and pray, 
They shall not ring thy wedding bell; 

In crystal deep lies Malvern Grey, 
And the pale Undines toll his knell. 

Extinguished Is the nuptial torch, 
And dirges chant the virgin train. 

While standing in the chapel porch, 
The friar leads the mournful strain. 

"Now haste ye for the hour is late 
My Father," Lady Edith cried, 

"And open wide the convent gate 
For thus I yet shall be a bride." 

The meekest soul In nun array. 

She toiled, resigned beneath the stroke. 

Till once it chanced at close of day 

The thread that she was spinning broke. 

She circled round the outer close 
Of what was once her father's hall; 

Her white veil brushed a climbing rose 
Festooned about the crumbling wall. 

The vesper-bell was heard afar. 
The trample of a straggling flock. 

And from the lilac skies a star 
Dropt to the forehead of a rock. 

The wild flowers huddled In the damp 
That falls at eve. Along the road 

Flared here and there a glow-worm's lamp 
Sprung from her path a frightened toad. 

1 06 



A stir of cedars in the grove 

Peopled the mountain air with sighs, 

And listening, Edith vainly strove 
To stem the rush of memories. 

''Forgive the thoughts that will intrude, 
Short-comings of our idle hours, 

Fancies that swarm in solitude 

Like bats about the darkened towers ; 

For wind-swept ivies words may find, 
And where a sudden footstep falls, 

In silent ruins of the mind 

A wing may start from crannied walls." 

So prayed she, for a figure stood 
In saffron gloam, that sent a thrill 

Through the parched channels of her blood. 
As water from a cooling rill 

To men long wounded in the fight. 

Sir Malvern in the flesh had not 
Looked prouder than this phantom knight 

Nor walked with surer tread, God wot. 

She prayed aloud, "Sweet Saints release 
His soul from doom of death unshriven, 

And may my tribulations cease 

When he and I shall meet in heaven." 

"Now by the rood, thou gentle nun, 

An Ave shalt thou say for me, 
But first I fain would hear of one 

Who gave me this gold ring, pardee!" 

Then in the failing light, the man 
Held up a ruby studded gem 

107 



Of cunning workmanship that rail 
About a Countess' diadem. 

"Ah! Maris Stella! Star of wrecks 
Save or we perish!" So the cry 

Starts from the washed and driven decks 
Amid the storm that blanks the sky. 

Thus Edith, in the wildering blast 

That swept her, as that voice she heard ; 

She scanned the bearded face aghast, 
And fluttered like a stricken bird. 

Lo, nobly stands the forest pine 

Though winter weigh its boughs to earth, 
And nobly does the red sun shine 

Though bitter frost lie on the earth. 

As nobly bore Sir Malvern Grey 
His faithful brand and dragon crest, 

Though hoar upon his temple lay. 
Nor did he ween whom he addresst. 

The distaff fell, the sable thread 
She held between her fingers broke ; 

" 'Twas Lady's Edith's ring," she said. 
And scarcely knew the words she spoke. 

Beneath the stroke from which she reeled. 
Her thought was all of sparing him. 

The flowing habit scarce revealed 
Her figure in the twilight grim. 

"Sister! Beshrew the cloister lore 

That little recks of helm and lance," — 

"The maid you seek. Sir, is no more," 
She faltered, with averted glance. 

io8 



"Edith of Tynewold could not die, 
For Death had never dared to set 

His mists upon her jewel eye, 
Upon her eye of violet! 

Edith of Tynewold is alive. 

By all the hopes that in me swell 
And I shall burn your thrifty hive 

If she be hidden in a cell." 

"Nay, Sir, beyond the close where lie, 
Dry buried piles of dead nun's bones, 

Her grave is hid in bryony. 

And scattered with the mountain stones. 

She sleeps beside a running brook. 
But none shall ever know the spot, 

For sinfully her life she took, 

The maiden that you loved is not." 

Sir Malvern gazed with dawning dread 
On her set lips and quivering brow; 

"Edith had heard that thou wast dead 
And then endured what thou dost now." 

A crimson tide flowed o'er his face 
And left it whiter than the May, 

"I loved thee girl, so help me Grace 
And shall unto my dying day." 

ON THE ATLANTIC 

1894 

I once saw a face in the crowd. 

Eight long days, while the ship to and fro 
Flung her weight on the billow, and ploughed 

Her straight furrow of foam : 
109 



Though all his companions, chance grown 
To acquaintance, would wear out the slow 

Creeping hours with dull mirth, he alone 
Wandered back to his home. 

To his home? Was the song of a wife, 

Was the lisp of a child in his ears? . . . 
Nay, methinks that the life of his life 

Had flickered and died. 
Early grey tinged a brow crossed and high, 

And the softness of early shed tears 
Like a mist dimmed the fire of an eye 

That no woman had dried. 

For he walked quite alone in the throng 

With his spirit turned inward, or bowed 
O'er a book while his eye lingered long 

On the low fleeting verge. 
And perchance in the distance he sought 

For a dream that the foam like a shroud 
Wrapt about, as the wind hissed and fought 

The huge roll of the surge. 

What his voice was, I know not. By choice 

He spoke not, and none spoke to him. 
So I heard not his speech, and the voice 

Oft the nature reveals. 
Was it mellow and deep as the sound 

Of the bell that was cleft to the brim 
And thus broken, yet pours to the ground 

Such harmonious peals 

That the roar of the great city street 
Will be lulled for a moment to hear 

As the dim air vibrates to the beat 
Of its deep throated toll? 

Or else was it muffled and low, 

1 10 



Dull with sorrow, a leaf that is sear 
In the prime of its summer? — I know 
Grief can deaden the soul. 

Or it may be an impulse short-sighted, 

The fault that a man must redeem 
By a life time dishonored, unknighted, 

Set its brand on his brow, 
Left an anguish too fierce to be borne 

Without flinching: at times it would seem 
To flash out in the bitter self-scorn 

Of a strong soul laid low. 

His were thews of a powerful race: 

Though humbled his glance and though riven 
His heart, there was force in his face, 

In its glint and its gloam. 
And I thought 'He is lonely and proud,' 

As the vessel 'mid rain wind-driven 
Cast her weight on the billow and ploughed 

Her straight furrow of foam. 

WHERE OTHERS SHALL TREAD 

June,, 1894, Mountain Lake Park 

He stands upon the deck, watching the waves 

Ruflled with colder breezes from the Pole; 

Far down the fleeting verge the point he craves 

To reach lies hid his voyage's far goal 

On this he bends a gaze with which he sends his soul. 

Now o'er the greenish flood a shadow passed, 
Flung from the gathering clouds that fled the gale. 
Now stoops the headlight of the reeling mast, 
Now in the dead mist droops the idle sail. 
Where to avoid the ice lights are of no avail, 

III 



As her lone course the faithful vessel steers 
Shunning the crystal rocks on either side, 
Or swift and free she bounds, or deftly veers, 
To plough a stealthy passage through the tide, 
Still in the bow he stands, careless whate'er betide. 

Searching the blinding mist with eager eyes. 
Wrapt in his dream though dim and distant far : 
"I still shall see above my head" he cries, 
"The wheeling circles of the Northern star, 
In that vast sea beyond the frozen bar"! 

And yet the moaning of the restless waters, 
And yet the glitter of the wintry skies, 
And yet the old chant of the Ocean's daughters, 
Frought with the dirge of human destinies 
Called up a moment's shadow in his eyes. 

Sharp was the wind that froze the dripping ropes, 
It chilled and numbed him to the very heart ; 
So shall the future freeze my sunny hopes 
He mused, when waking with a sudden start 
He gave his men the signal to depart. 

For 'mid the rush and wail of wind and water 
Framed with the glamour of the pale lit ice, 
Locked in among the crashing blocks that caught her, 
The ship was held and ground as in a vice. 

Ice bound! and lighted with the arctic glow 
That dimly showed ridge, mound and vale of ice 
And cast a ghastly radiance on the snow; 
Fed with coarse food that hardly could suffice. 
They toiled along. Fame, Science, what a price, 

Ye cost ! and O how lightly weighs a life 
Against ye! Yet your hope so very fair, 

112 



Love, Duty, Honour, cannot cope with strife 
Such as men face for you without despair 
Such as you marineer is meeting there. 

With sledge and axe he fleets across the snows. 
Furrowing the track of dogs, the Arctic steeds ; 
Cheering his men, while none among them knows 
How much a heartening word himself he needs. 
So with his life his young the pelican feeds. 

Patience, and hope ! the' toil, the hardships borne 

The twilight travel on a pathless way. 

The cold, the sickness and the dread forlorn 

Each entertains no more to see the day 

Must end. But now "We care not how" they say. 

Onward, still on they plod, and every camp 
At leaving marks a sad and lonely grave 
Without a name, locked in the unfriendly clamp 
Of closing ice, far from the sounding wave 
In everlasting silence. And the brave 

Grow dull and careless : thought and hope and fear 
Sink to one frozen level, like the sheet 
Of countless snows around them. Does he hear 
Their dying groans, or has it ceased to beat 
With human feeling, that stout heart? Too fleet 

Thy eager sledge O marineer! The sea 
Thou gav'st thy life to find is not. Farewell. 
The sun will never shine again for thee 
And bitter silence tolls thy barren knell. 
Thou loved'st thy wondrous dream too well too 
well! 

Searching the distant shore with failing eyes. 
Sinking in death, yet gazing still afar: 

113 



"Forever round my sleeping head," he cries 
"Wheel thy pale circles, O thou northern star 
In this vast vi^aste beyond the frozen bar". 

SONG 

If a man and a woman love 
With all their heart, I say — ■ 

With all their heart, 
And one of them drift away, 
What shall the life of the other prove, 
After they part? 

While the wanderer shall rove 
From rose to gold and grey. 

In church and mart 
The other shall watch and pray. 
At every step in the desert grove 
Shall pale and start, 

Shall say, "I valiantly strove. 
But never could allay 
The rankling smart, 
For as the surf to the spray. 
As the shade of the elms to the dove. 
My life thou art." 

THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM 

{Mentor J Ohio) 

He was clad like a thing 
That a madman remembers. 
In dreams: glowed with the sting 
That crawls out of dead embers, 
Worms its way through a drift 
Of grey smothering ashes, 

114 



Into nothingness whiffed 

With a beat of the lashes. 

And he sat on a bough 

That was dead to the core, 

Wrenched, I cannot tell how 

For I do not know more. 

Into hideous shape 

As it pushed through the wall 

That flung vines out, to drape 

An old grave with a pall. 

And he played on a lute 

That shrieked out like the stones 

Between Charles the Fifth's boot 

And Imperial bones 

In the chapel at Aix, 

When raised one throne-step higher 

Fair haired Carolus Rex 

Doffed his crown to his sire. 

Thus the Storm Spirit mocked 

At the wreck and the spar 

And the bell that is rocked 

To the moan of the bar: 

"Let the gurgle and rush 

O'er the topgallant swirl. 

Let the sailor's grave blush 

With rose coral and pearl. 

Let the "purple veil" float 

Like a banner o'erhead, 

And the jelly-fish gloat 

On the feast that is spread." 

Thus the Storm Spirit sang 

As he swung in the bell 

And the church steeple rang 

With the sound of a knell. 

Night gallops apace 

With the storm and her hood 

115 



Flies back in the race, 
While the moon tears along 
Atop of the trees; 
And the Devil's own gong 
Strikes in minor keys; 
And the whippoorwill wails 
On the edge of the pool, 
And the hurricane rails 
With the voice of a fool. 
"What the storm shall destroy 
I care not, Ha! not I! 
The red flash is a joy 
On the ricks or the rye; 
Where the thunderbolt falls 
Let the highest oak be. 
There are calls, there are calls 
In the tempest for me!" 

SOUVENIR— A SONG 

{December J 1895) 

I seek in vain the flames of dawn 
Upon a noon day sky. 

The dews have left the rose, the corn 
And bearded barley lie 

In silent sheaves that gaily swung 
At morning in the wind. 

The robin's early songs are sung, 
Dayspring is left behind, 
Dayspring is left behind. 

And other footsteps tread the grass 
Across the daisied lawn. 

And other voices as they pass 
Upon the wind are borne. 
Upon the wind are borne. 

116 



And others sing the songs you sung, 
And others say the words you said, 

But O my love my heart is wrung 
Because its love is dead, 
Because its love is dead. 

And memory lives but to deride 

Bygone realities, 
For when we stood, love, side by side. 
We each stood singly in our pride, 
Nor sought each other's eyes, — 
Nor sought each other's eyes. 

LETTERS TO MY ALICE 

After the manner of great poets of several ages. 

Letter i (Elizabethan) 

{After the style of Philip Sidney^ Knight) 

Why droops my Alice in the leafy dells 
That silence mantles with a hood of green. 
Nor ever answers me, nor ever tells 
How she hath fared since here she last was seen? 
How she hath fared, and what her lightest look 
That the great city's pavement daily meets, 
Whilst I am pining in my dingy nook 
And envy every cloud that southward fleets? 

Letter 2 (Classic) 

{After the style of John Dry den) 

Fair Alice brooks no importunity 
To mar the even tenor of her way. 



117 



And still no angel opportunity 
Brings me the news shall wipe my care away. 
Thus swift Diana, she of woodland fame, 
With foot as light as moonbeam on the fern, 
Heedless of men, pursued her sylvan game, 
And wandered free as ripples on the kern. 

Letter 3 (Victorian) 

{After the style of Alfred TennysoUjPoet Laureate) 

Now April on the willow flames, 
A bluebird in the lilac bush 
To all the listening hedge proclaims 
His bursting joy. Now falls the hush 

Earth to inspired music yields, 
Upon the pregnant meadow-land, 
Until I long to take your hand 
And walk in silence through the fields. 

Letter 4 (Quintessential) 

{After the manner of A. C. Swinburne) 

How glide the days? Write me a line, whisper the 

swallow, friend, 
Swallow fly north; glow of the wine, ray in the 

mists that rend. 
Blush of the bloom, song of the soul, heart of my 

heart's ideal, 
Spin out my dream, leave not the wool idly wound 

round the wheel. 
For I am numb, scarcely alive, like a forsaken close, 
Circled with briars ; make me revive, rains that 

splash on the rose; 



118 



Oh for the sound of a loved voice, warm as the gold- 
en Spring, 

Oh how I long, friend of my choice, long but to hear 
it ring. 

Letter 5 (Undefinable) 

{After the style of Robert Browning) 

What is your reason for not answering me ? 
I do not care ; Stars wheel their constant course 
Not fretted by the glow-worm, and the sea 
Leaps on dumb crags in scorn — ^A word of course 
Would cheer, — yet I can do without it, Madam. 
I do not reckon up my paltry gain 
With gold ingot, nor think of unfelt pain. 
Nor of unwritten notes as if I had 'em. 

IN ANSWER 
{To Emma) 

"What is friendship ?" you ask, 

What shall I say? 

Oh I know, but the task, 

Do what I may. 

Seems like wearing a mask 

In a Greek play. 

What I say is a word 

Not my true self, 

An odd fancy, absurd 

As a carved elf: 

Dumb is the lute you heard 

Back on the shelf. 

Lo a breath at the ear, 

Gleam of a dirk. 

Painful, relentless, clear: 

119 



''Take up your work, 

Knowing, feeling me near. 

Tremble nor shirk ; 

Longing to be and do 

All that you can, 

All I expect of you, 

Proving the man. 

Proving the woman too. 

Living your span." 

Grand incentive to rise, 

Noble and pure. 

In your censor's calm eyes. 

And to endure 

Stings and buzzings of flies 

Since one is sure. 

This is friendship, my friend, 

Second to love, 

More unblamed in the end, 

Rising above 

Storms of passion that rend 

Love's altar grove. 

ALICE OF THE WOODS 

Do you know of a roof that is hidden with boughs 
In the heart of the innermost wood. 
Where a lattice of leaves makes a frame for the face 
That is sweet as the sun and as good? 

Do you know of a song that is sung on the bough 
When the brooks will be hushed with delight, 
And the voice of the mountains and angels and stars 
Sink at last in the voice of the night ? 

Do you know of a friend who stands there at the 

door, 
With a welcome half-spoken for me, 

1 20 



And a burden of blossoms that fade in her hand, 
The dear friend I am longing to see? 

Wind and sail, cloud and wing, take me then to the 

place 
Where the dawn on the hills shall awake, 
And the touch of a hand shall bring gladness to me, 
As the purple gleams over the lake. 

THE ERMINE OF BRITTANY 

"Potius mori quam foedari" — So the ermine of 
King Conan, 

White as snow upon the carvings of the great cathe- 
dral door. 

Still she led him on to battle and victorious he fol- 
lowed, 

While the ermine's coat remained immaculate and 
pure. 

"Potius mori quam foedari," welcome death be- 
fore pollution, 

So Armorica's fair motto from the spotless ermine 
came, 

And King Conan was victorious till the ermine's 
coat was sullied. 

By the foe who cast defilement on our Guen of Brit- 
tainy. 

Warriors, in the van our standard glitters with a 
silver splendor. 

Older than the golden lilies, or the Flame of Saint 
Denis. 



121 



OCT 



« fe*ift. 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



dtrr ^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



015 906 530 3 



